


Toy Soldiers

by taylor51



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afghanistan, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bombing, Explicit Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Military, Panic Attacks, Soldiers, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-24 08:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 38,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor51/pseuds/taylor51
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 2002, Castiel Milton is a soldier returning from duty in Afghanistan with PTSD and anxiety disorders. He doesn't believe he can ever have a normal life again, until he attends a support group and meets Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not use this story as an example for dealing with PTSD. If you or anyone you know if suffering from it, seek professional help.

#  Toy Soldiers 

###  Prolouge 

_Bullets cracked in his ears as he ran, heart pounding. His legs ached and his skin felt as if it were peeling away from the sweat. He heard distant noises behind him: yelling, footsteps, gunfire. He didn't slow down._

_His feet flew out from underneath him, and he hit the ground hard. He glanced back to see what he'd tripped over. A bloody face with blank, dead eyes stared back at him. For a second, he was frozen. It was the face of a young boy - he couldn't have been older than nineteen. For a second, Castiel had the strange feeling that he was staring at his own face._

_Then he was scrambling up and running again, his helmet strap digging into his chin and his gun slapping his torso as he went._

He woke up drenched in sweat and gasped, throwing the covers as far away from him as he could. For a second he lay shaking. _Focus on your breathing,_ he told himself, but the more he tried to calm himself down, the louder and harder his breath sounded, his heart racing away desperately in his chest like it was afraid of slowing down. It shook his body and pounded in his ears.

He tried to get out of bed, but ended up falling to the floor. He scrambled to his feet just as he had in his dream. _It wasn't real,_ he reminded himself. _You're safe now._ But the panic didn't cease. He couldn't hear anything except for his mind running circles in his head and his body refusing to obey him.

He tried to move through the house quietly, but smacked into a wall almost immediately and gave up. He staggered to the bathroom down the hallway from the guest bedroom, turned on the lights, and locked the door behind him. He turned the right nozzle on the bathtub as far as it would go, put the stopper in, and momentarily pressed his face under the cold water.

He stripped his clothes off quickly, discarding them on the tiled floor and wrinkling his nose at the sweat stains. Once the tub was full of cold water, he lowered himself into it slowly, arms shaking, and submerged himself.

He held his breath for as long as he could. At first his mind shrieked at him, begging him to escape. But he felt his heart rate slowing and his mind soon calmed itself down. Low temperatures always did the trick.

When he felt like he couldn't breathe, he brought his head up. He stared at the white, cracked ceiling for a few seconds, and noticed a pair of dirty handprints in the corner. He wondered, idly, how they'd gotten there, and tried to focus on that instead of the dream.

He heard a tentative knock at the door. "Castiel?" a girl's voice whispered hesitantly. "Cas? You okay?"

"I'm fine," he said. His voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat and said again, "I'm fine, Anna. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You need anything?" He could hear the fatigue in her voice, could practically _feel_ how tired she was.

"No, it's okay," he said, shivering. "Go back to sleep."

A pause. Then he heard her feet padding away on the carpet.

There was a sharp ringing sound in his ears, and his shivers turned to shudders. He lifted himself out of the bathtub, dripping wet. "Anna!" he called.

He heard her returning. "Yes?"

"Could you please bring me a towel?"

She sighed, and shame coursed through him. "Sure. Just a second."

He stood, naked and shaking, both arms wrapped hanging limply at his sides until she knocked once on the door. He opened it a crack for her to pass the towel through, then closed it. "Thank you," he said as sincerely as possible. He wanted her to know that he wasn't just thanking her for the towel, but for everything else she'd done for him.

"You're welcome." He heard her leave and wrapped the towel around himself, still shivering, the nightmare still threatening the fringes of his mind.

But then again, it never really left. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he wanted it to. He wasn't sure what would be left of him without it.


	2. Chapter One

###  Chapter One 

He woke up to the coffeemaker the next morning. Pulling some pajama pants over his boxers, he went downstairs to find a coffee cup waiting for him at the table.

"I'm sorry about last night," he said to Anna in lieu of "good morning". He couldn't count how many times he'd apologized to her, how many times he'd wished there was a word beyond "sorry".

She looked up from the eggs she was scrambling and nodded crisply. "Is it getting any better?" she asked, a scared sort of hope in her eyes. "The nightmares?"

 _No._ "Yes, a little bit," he lied, not wanting to disappoint her.

She knew he was lying, he could tell. But she turned back to her eggs anyway. "Good." Maybe if they both kept repeating it, they'd start to believe it.

A thunderous noise came from the stairs, and Castiel's head jerked up, startled for a moment, before he chastened himself. _It's only Gabriel, of course._ Twelve years older and brimming with life, Anna's son never seemed able to walk (or talk) at a normal volume.

"Hey, Cas," he said, sliding into his seat at the kitchen table. "Smells good, Mom!" he yelled.

"Wash up first," said Anna. Gabriel pouted, but leapt to his feet and sprinted out of the room. Castiel heard the bathroom sink turn on momentarily and then turn off far too quickly. Seconds later, Gabriel was back in his seat.

"Can Chad and Ian come over today?" he asked as Anna slid some scrambled eggs on to his plate.

"Depends," she said, adding some bacon. "Is your room clean?"

"It's like ninety per cent done."

"Hmm. Well, until it's a _hundred_ per cent done, no." Anna returned to the stove. "And don't give me that look. I've been asking you to clean it for weeks. It's hardly my fault you ignored me."

Gabriel shoveled the food into his mouth but managed to keep a sulky look on his face while doing so. He drained his glass of orange juice and jumped up from the table, running to turn on the TV.

"Clear your dishes!" Anna called. He ran back in, practically threw the dishes at the sink, and was gone again.

"Ah, the eternal energy of the youth," said Castiel wistfully, earning a pointed glare from Anna. "Enjoy this while it lasts. Soon he'll be a hulking teenager and he'll never take his earphones out."

"I think I might prefer that," Anna said wryly, rinsing Gabriel's dishes off and putting them in the dishwasher. "What about you? Want any breakfast?"

Castiel shrugged. "I'm not especially hungry at the moment."

"You sure?" Castiel could see her peeking at him when she thought he wouldn't notice.

"Yes. I'll eat later."

"You've lost weight," said Anna suddenly.

Castiel sighed. "Anna, please."

"I'm serious. You haven't been eating regularly, and then there's the nightmares and the mood swings - one minute you're calm, the next you're all riled up and full of nervous energy," said Anna. "Cas, there are groups for this kind of thing, people you can talk to -"

"I don't want to talk to anyone," he said shortly.

" - people who are going through the same thing -"

"I really don't want to talk to you about this right now."

"Then _when_?" Anna planted both hands on her hips and turned to glare at him. "You've been staying here for two weeks and you're not getting any better. I think it would really help you if you -"

"You sound like a mother."

Anna's cheeks went red, but she didn't back down. "And so what if I do?"

"I need a sister right now," he said quietly.

She seemed to deflate a little bit in front of him. Her arms dropped to her sides and she took a deep breath before walking over and sitting down across from him. "I _am_ your sister, Cas, and I love you. That's why I want to help you. You can't stay here forever, you know."

"I'll get a job, I promise. I'll move out when I have enough money."

"It's not just _that,_ though that might be a good start. It's ..." She paused, biting her lip. "Remember when we were kids and we used to play alien spaceship attack in the backyard? Or when we'd bike down to the playground with James and Richard? Remember when you broke the record for fastest 400 freestyle at our high school? You used to be so _happy._ You used to have fun, and laugh. I haven't even seen you smile once. I just ..." She blinked a few times, and Castiel could tell she was trying not to cry and averted his eyes uncomfortably. "I just want you to be happy again."

There wasn't anything he could say, any believable lie he could tell, so he stayed quiet.

"Here." She went to the kitchen counter and returned with a few sheets of paper stapled together. "I printed this out for you. It's a support group for people with PTSD or returning soldiers." She put it down in front of him. "It's at the rec center a few miles from here. They meet every Saturday morning. I think you should try it out."

 _No chance in hell_ was his first reaction, but he looked at her, smiling hopefully, and thought of everything she'd done for him: brought him in, given him clothes and food, even worried about him. He thought of all the stress and pain he was causing her, and nodded silently.

She seemed relieved and walked back over to the dishwasher.

*** 

Castiel returned to the guest bedroom, tired and cranky. It was bare, mostly: the walls were white and blank. The only furniture was a single bed, bedside table and dresser. Two suitcases lay on the floor. Once was open and brimming with books, electronics, notebooks, pens and loose papers. The other was closed and shoved next to the dresser. Castiel went to the open one and pulled out a paperback copy of _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo._ He lay down on the bed and started to read.

A few hours later, as he toyed around on his laptop, he heard the front door open and shut and the shouts of boys' voices filled the house. Gabriel must have gotten his room clean, and Chad and Ian had arrived. Castiel selected some noise-cancelling headphones from his bag and pressed them over his ears. Loud, excited noises affected him - he could already feel his pulse beginning to quicken.

This was just one of the many reasons he rarely left the house, or even the bedroom. People were so loud, so fast, so aggressive without meaning to be, without realizing it. He remembered, a few weeks back, when he'd been at a cafe and a car outside had backfired. He'd had a full-fledged panic attack and one of the terrified customers feared he was dying and called 911, which had resulted in him ending up in the hospital. It had been incredibly humiliating to the point where even remembering it was painful. From then on, he'd stuck to making his coffee in the kitchen, though the quality was significantly inferior.

Instead of going outside, he wrote. He drew. He read. He studied. He went online. He watched TV. He listened to music. Day after day after day. Sometimes he just lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Some days, he felt too tired to move, too tired even to breath. He thought about how easy it would be to simply _stop_ everything. Other days, he felt so restless he thought he might die if he didn't go out and _do_ something. On those days he'd go down to the basement, where Anna had installed a slew of gym equipment. She'd been a jock and a health nut ever since she began high school and sometimes she'd exercise with him. When he felt really brave, he'd go outside for a run.

But then the listlessness would return, and he'd find himself standing in the middle of the road panting and feeling that returning home was the hardest thing he'd ever have to do. Or he'd hear or see something which would bring on the waves of sharp, biting panic, like a creature digging its claws and teeth into him.

One time he'd gotten angry, angrier than he'd ever been in his life. He was thankful Gabriel hadn't been home then - he never wanted anyone to see him that way, but especially not his nephew. Anna had been there, horrified but resilient, as he tore pages out of books with his hands and smashed various items around the house. After that, he'd tried to leave, packed his things and loaded them into the back of his station wagon. But he had no job, no money, no place to go. So he stayed with her, cowardly and ashamed.

It tore him apart, knowing that she was a little bit afraid of him. Waking up in the early hours of the morning knowing he'd been screaming. Shutting himself in the icebox, dropping a kettle of boiling water because the neighbors had slammed their front door. The mood swings, the erratic sleeping patterns. He'd stayed up for two days straight at one point.

It irritated him beyond belief that he could not control his own mind, his own body. He felt like he was locked in a cage, trapped in _himself,_ in his own state of being. He hated how fragile he felt, like he could barely make it through a day without some sort of episode. It wasn't fair to them, he knew. Maybe he should seek psychiatric help, or at least attend that support group.

Except. Except. He knew he'd never be able to do it. Look a stranger in the eye and tell them things he could barely admit to himself. He couldn't dissect his behavior or even be present to watch it be dissected in front of him. He couldn't be a bug under a microscope or trust someone else with his mind. It was fragile, it was broken, but it was _his._

*** 

"I want to move out."

It was four in the morning a few days later. Gabriel was sleeping soundly in his bedroom. Anna had been too, until she'd heard a crash from upstairs. She could barely contain a sigh as she got out of bed and slipped into a robe. _Really, Cas? Again?_ She knew it wasn't his fault, that he couldn't help it, but she was tired of the dark circles under her eyes. She didn't want to feel that way, and she never wanted him to feel like she resented him. But it was still there: that cold sliver of anger towards him for something that was beyond his control.

She'd gone to his room and found him lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. His breathing was calm but his eyes were wide.

"Cas?" she said hesitantly, and he'd turned to her with those big blue eyes. She'd been so jealous of his eyes as a child. She'd hated her almond eyes and cursed genetics everyday for giving him them but denying her. When he looked at her, she felt like that little girl again.

That's when he'd said it: "I want to move out."

She hesitated. "I - I'm not sure that's a good idea."

He just looked at her.

"I don't think you're ready -"

"I am never going to be ready," he said serenely. "But I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, if that's what you mean. I can do my own dishes and wipe my own bottom. I'm a grown man. I don't need you, Anna."

She flinched. She couldn't stop herself.

"I'm sorry," he said, softer. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did."

"I did, but not the way it came out. I didn't mean it as a personal slight at you. You've done too much for me already. But I can't stay here and be an invalid for the rest of my life. I just _can't._ "

"You don't have any money."

"I got a job at BargainMart," he replied. "Stocking shelves, loading boxes, that sort of thing. I start on Monday. I've saved up enough of my army pension to get a small place downtown. Nothing fancy, which is better for me. I want to move down there in a couple of days."

She just stared at him. She could feel something welling up inside her and clenched her fists. She wanted to hit him. "Fuck, Cas!" she yelled.

He started, jerking to his feet more quickly than she would have imagined. She knew she'd scared him but couldn't bring herself to care. "You didn't tell me!" she screamed. "It's three o'clock in the fucking morning! You think this is a good time to be telling me this?!"

"I'm sorry," he said. She could tell he meant it. That made it worse.

"I know! I _know_ you're sorry!" she shrieked. Brought her fists up to her head. "Jesus Christ, Cas! You can't just -"

"Mom?"

She turned to see a bleary-eyed Gabriel in Spongebob pajama pants standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes groggily and squinting at her and Castiel. "Is everything okay?" he murmured.

"Yeah, yeah it's okay, honey," she said quickly. "Why don't you go back to bed?"

Castiel nodded behind her. Gabriel glanced between the two of them and yawned widely. He exited unceremoniously. Anna watched him go down the hallway to his bedroom before turning back to Castiel, who stood wide-eyed and innocent.

"I'm causing you stress," he said. She knew there was no point in protesting, that he'd take every denial as a confirmation. "I know I am."

She saw by the set in his jaw, the way he lifted his chin higher, that he wasn't going to rethink this. He'd go through with it whether she liked it or not. But she couldn't let it go. "Cas, I want you here," she said, which was neither the truth nor a complete lie. "Don't think for a second I want you to leave. I'd rather have the stress and know that you're safe here than have you off by yourself when you might not be able to handle it."

"I'm not that delicate, Anna," he said. "I can care for myself. And I will."

She gave up. It was four in the morning. Castiel wasn’t changing his mind. It hurt her to do so, but she closed her eyes and said, “Be careful, Cas.”

She stood with her eyes closed and jumped slightly when she felt his arms around her. He moved so silently -- like a ghost. But he pulled her close and squeezed. “I will,” he whispered to her. “I promise.” And he let her go and moved away.

She opened her eyes and kept them open as she walked back down the stairs. It was hard to process this new information. The only thing she thought about as she returned to her bed was that that had been the most contact she’d had with Castiel since he returned.


	3. Chapter Two

###  Chapter Two 

Castiel left Sunday morning, loading his suitcases into the back of his beat up station wagon. When he'd first been drafted, he'd sold almost everything he owned but made Anna promise to keep his car for him. He could still remember how proud he'd been when he'd first gotten it after saving up for two years. He'd picked Anna up from college with the music turned up as high as it would go and she'd rolled her eyes but smiled and gotten in and they'd driven randomly throughout the town, stopping at a Drive Thru for a heavenly burger and fries before speeding through residential neighborhoods scream singing along. Before he'd been drafted. Before Anna had had Gabriel. Before nightmares grew legs and followed him around.

Before he left, Anna pressed a familiar-looking piece of paper into his hands. "Promise me you'll at least try it. _Please_." He sighed when he saw the page for the support group, but nodded in agreement.

His new apartment was, honestly, a pig sty. The furniture was cheap and appeared to be molding, the walls were cracked and painted unevenly, it smelled a big strange, and whoever lived next door liked to listen to pornography. Loudly and unceasingly. It only had three rooms -- a bathroom with a rusty shower head, a bedroom and a kitchen-slash-living room.

But it was his. And he was alone.

He brought his suitcases to the bedroom and threw them open on the floor. He set up his laptop on the kitchen table. He tried to open a window, but it wouldn’t budge, so he contented himself by looking outside.

He didn’t sleep that night. By the time he felt as if he could, it was morning, and he started his new job in a few hours anyway. He made himself some coffee with a new coffeemaker -- the only shiny thing in the dingy apartment -- and drank a generous amount before dressing in big jeans and a baggy shirt. He frowned at the way it hung off of him. Anna was right, he _had_ lost weight. Maybe it was because his diet consisted mostly of coffee.

He was at work by seven-thirty. He shook hands with his boss, a short, grumpy British man named Crowley who growled something about stocking the shelves and gave him a hideous green tunic before retreating into his office. Luckily, a friendly woman who already worked there offered to show him the ropes.

"We keep everything in the back room," she said. "Cold stuff is on the left. There are pieces of paper that mark stuff, but for future reference, we put the boxed items near the back and the fresh stuff, like the fruits and vegetables, towards the front. The high school kids who work here on the weekends fuck things up sometimes. Keep an eye out for anything that needs to be shelved or restocked, but mostly we followed a schedule for things. Some things, like the bananas, go fast, so they should be restocked every hour. Other things go slower and should only be restocked once a day. The schedule’s on the door. Deliveries come in at eight, so you’ll need to take the boxes from the truck and put them in their respective places. When you’re done with that, start restocking. When you’ve finished a job, cross it off on the list so I know. Kay?"

He nodded, grateful for the help. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“No problem.” She grinned at him. “I’m Jo, by the way. Jo Harvelle. You?”

“Castiel,” he said simply, and then, since she’d said her name, he added, “Milton.”

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Crowley’s a pain in the ass, by the way, but just do your job and he shouldn’t bug you. Never let him see you with anything from a chain store. He hates them. I think he throws eggs at Target in his spare time.”

“Good to know,” he said, giving her one of his rare smiles.

She nodded and examined him. “Are you a soldier?”

He nodded. “I was, yes. I used to be. Why?”

“You look like one,” she said. “My dad was a soldier. He served in Vietnam. When he came back he carried himself a little differently. Most veterans do, so I can usually tell. Afghanistan?”

“Yes,” he said, and was spared continuing the conversation by the arrival of the delivery trucks. Jo gave him a sad little smile before exiting the room, leaving Castiel alone to unload the boxes.

He did so quickly and easily. Manual labor, at least, he was good at. It was an easy job, one that took up time and energy but not thought. This goes here, that goes there. A blissful sort of mindlessness.

Restocking was a bit more difficult, as he didn’t know his way around the store yet, but he managed to pick it up fairly easily. He was always good at finding his way around things. Throughout the oncoming days, he improved significantly, and often got the aisles right at the first try.

He found himself enjoying Jo’s company as well. She was friendly, had a nice smile, and was a generally cheerful person. She didn’t raise her voice or make sudden movements, and she was very easy to get along with. Often she greeted customers by name and whispered facts about them to Castiel.

“That’s the Brownes. They come in about once a week with their son Josh. He asks to buy the cookie cereal, but they always get Cheerios. Every single time, the same argument.”

“That’s Agnes. She lives in one of the condos on her own. She needs help carrying the groceries sometimes, though she’d rather die than admit it.”

“Charlie and Katie. They’re newlyweds and attached at the hip. Don’t ask them about anything that could be viewed as slightly romantic unless you want to hear every detail of their happy marriage.”

He could open up to Jo -- not about important things, but little things he wouldn’t tell most people, like the game he and Anna used to play at the waterpark together, or the creepy old man who always stood at the bus stop and stared at him unblinkingly. Jo could come up with a story about anyone, and wasn’t hesitant to share them. Castiel’s favorite theory was the one in which Crowley ran a secret drug cartel and a line of male exotic dancing clubs downtown. He could barely look at the man again after listening to Jo’s elaborate description about how he trained his dancers.

“TGIF,” she said one morning. “Congratulations, newbie, you made it through your first week.”

He smiled. “Not yet,” he reminded her.

“Oh, right. Shouldn’t jinx it. So, got any big plans for the weekend?”

He thought of the support group and sighed.

“What’s that for?”

“My sister wants me to attend this support group,” he said. “I promised her I would. I’m beginning to regret that promise now.”

“Support group, huh?” Jo narrowed her eyes at him. “Is it by any chance called held in the rec center by the pool?”

“It is indeed.”

“I know it!” She pointed at him and grinned. “My dad co-founded it, actually. He and his buddy John fought together in Vietnam and they created the group when they got back. They didn’t even really know what it was back then, they just knew that they weren’t all right.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My dad and John were best friends. They even signed up together. They were totally unprepared. They’re still best friends now. John has two sons, Sam and Dean, who I grew up with. They’re sort of like the brothers I never wanted.” She shrugged. “They’ll probably be there Saturday. They like to drop in, though Sam might be working a case then. He’s a lawyer.”

“Okay. Hey, Jo?” 

“Yeah?”

He’d normally never ask this, but he liked Jo, and felt that she was the type who wouldn’t judge. “Would you come with me, please?” He cringed at the way the words sounded. “I mean, you don’t have to, but you know people there, and I might feel better opening up if there was someone I knew there ...” He let the sentence trail away.

“Sure,” said Jo. “I’d love to come. I’ll text Dean and let him know.” She pulled out her cell phone and began typing.

“Cool.” The weight on Castiel’s chest began to lighten. Maybe the support group wouldn’t be so bad after all.

*** 

The rec center was a big place, but Castiel found the room fairly easily -- adjacent to a large gymnasium full of high school boys playing basketball. Jo was standing outside with a handsome man a bit taller than she was. She waved Castiel over when she saw him.

“Hey, Cas,” she said. “This is Dean Winchester.”

“Hey,” the man said with a smile, offering up his hand. Castiel grasped it and shook it.

“I’m Castiel Milton,” he replied.

“First group?”

He nodded once.

“It’s pretty chill, mostly. Don’t feel like you need to share if you don’t want to. It’s just as good listening.”

He nodded again. Dean pushed the door open and he and Jo followed her inside.

Tables lined the room, each with food or beverages on them. Mostly soda, brownies, cookies, popcorn, and other unhealthy things, but there were also carrot sticks, apple slices and peanut butter. In the center of the room was a circle of chairs. A few of them were already occupied.

Dean and Jo made a beeline for the plates and cups, which they filled with things that made Castiel’s arteries harden just to _look_ at. He didn’t understand how both of them could be in such good shape and eat that sort of thing. He chose an empty seat at random and sank into it, already peeking at the clock. Jo sat down next to him, but Dean sat down a few chairs away, next to an older man who Castiel guessed was his father, judging by the resemblance.

“That’s John,” said Jo quietly, confirming his suspicion. “Sam couldn’t make it today. He’s working.”

“Okay,” said Castiel, wrinkling his nose at the scent wafting off of her potato chips. 

“Aren’t you going to have anything?”

“No, I’m not hungry,” he said. “That looks disgusting.”

She rolled her eyes and smacked her lips loudly.

The room filled up quickly. Most of the people were men, and older than Castiel. There were only two other girls besides Jo who sat next to each other and spoke in hushed voices, and Castiel only saw two people his age: a tall black man who was still wearing his fatigues and a skinny, mousy white boy.

After a few minutes of sitting quietly, John got to his feet. “Thank you all for coming,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I recognize most of you, but I see a few new faces, too.” Castiel saw his eyes dart towards him and away again. “Why don’t we all go around and say our names? I’ll start: I’m John Winchester.”

“Dean,” said Dean.

They went around. Most of the names slipped in one ear and out the other, but Castiel hung on to a few: the mousy white boy was Garth, the taller black man Jake. The two girls were Gwen and Meg, and two of the older men were called Rufus and Bobby and seemed to be friends.

The group was, overall, what Castiel expected. They spoke about difficulties of adjusting to civilian lifestyles, nightmares and other clichés. 

"I keep promising myself I'll get treatment," said Garth. "It just ... it never happens."

"That's because you're doing it wrong," said Dean. It was the first he'd spoken, and everyone turned to look at him. Castiel recognized instantly that he was one of those people who could capture everyone's attention just by speaking. He glanced at his father for a second, who gave him a short nod, and then said, "My dad fought in Vietnam and later in Panama. My little brother and I spent a good chunk of our childhood waiting for him to come home. But even when he was home, he wasn't really. I remember Sam waking up crying because he could hear my dad yelling in his sleep, or not wanting to bring friends home because he was afraid of what they'd think, or what might happen. I had to go all the parent-teacher conferences and when I came home I'd find my dad in the front yard with a rifle because he was afraid we were going to be invaded or attacked. Sam kept asking me why we didn't take him to a doctor and I never gave him a straight answer. One time he asked me if it was okay to be scared of your own father."

The words were met with silence.

"My point is," said Dean, "that it sucks for everyone. You're not the only person affected by it. Your friends, your family ... it hurts everyone. And if you keep making yourself promises nothing will ever happen. You've got to start promising _them_ \- all the people you love. That's the only way you'll ever start getting help." He nodded at everyone around the room. "I want you all to choose someone right now who you love and who you know is being affected by this and promise them you'll get better."

"What if you don't have anyone like that?" asked Garth.

"Then you promise me," said Dean. "Look me in the eye and swear to me you'll get better and don't let me down."

Castiel stared at Dean. He was impressed. More than that - he had an urge he hadn't had for awhile, to meet someone, to sit down with them and talk to them and get to know them. He was interested, he realized - interested in figuring Dean out, in hearing more about him, even in sharing things with him.

Which is why he raised his hand.

Jo smiled encouragingly at him as he began to speak. "I served in Afghanistan," he said to start out. Garth and Jake, who had most likely served in Afghanistan as well, nodded. "During that time, my base was bombed three times. Some of the Afghani soldiers turned on us and began shooting at us. My platoon bombed and raided civilian houses that we suspected were harboring terrorists. We did so without proof. And I went along with it, not because I agreed with it, but because whenever I put that uniform on, I stopped being a person and started being another weapon. Or at least that's what it felt like. I was barely conscious of myself as an individual until I returned. That's when I started remembering things I hadn't remembered before. I guess I must have blocked them out. I remember shooting down an Afghani boy who looked just like me. I remember bombing a house with three young children in it because their father might have helped bomb us a week prior. I remember finding the scattered limbs of a friend of mine. And it's horrible, remembering those things. But they're _my_ memories. They're the only thing that make me feel like I'm still human. I don't want to let them go or push them away or stop feeling them, because then I feel as if I'll be nothing but a soldier again. I never want to feel like that again - like another piece of ammo."

Unlike Dean's response, Castiel's speech was met with nods and murmurs. "Exactly," said Jake. "When I was serving, I didn't feel anything. It was all just numb. Feelings things again - I can't let go of that. Who I am now, I feel like that's who I'm supposed to be."

Castiel blinked, surprised. He hadn't realized anyone else felt the same way.

"That's not what you want to be feeling, boy," said Bobby gruffly. "I know exactly what you meant. You feel like those emotions are the only ones you're ever gonna have, but they're actually holding you back from who you're supposed to be. Believe me when I tell you you'll be able to live your life much better if you get help. PTSD is an disorder, and it's hurting you."


	4. Chapter Three

###  Chapter Three 

"So, not horrible?" Jo teased after the meeting was over. Castiel was surprised that she was still treating him the same after his confession. Not that he was complaining.

"It was actually slightly ... therapeutic," he said honestly.

"That's sort of the vibe we're going for," said a voice behind him. Castiel jumped, startled, and turned to see Dean grinning at him. "Most people don't speak at their first group," he commented.

"Your speech inspired me," said Castiel truthfully.

"I was sort of freestyling, honestly. Nice to know it was helpful." He took the last brownie from the table and shoved it into his mouth.

"It was very helpful," said Castiel.

Dean's smile grew wider. "Wanna go get a coffee?"

"What ... now?" Castiel turned to get Jo's opinion, and saw that Jo had left and engaged Meg and Gwen in conversation.

"What's wrong with now?"

"You've practically digested everything in the room. How could you possibly eat anymore?"

"Hey." Dean frowned. "You calling me fat?"

"No. In fact, it's a miracle you're _not_ fat, considering the sheer amount of carbohydrates you've just consumed. Maybe you should ease off a little bit, especially considering that your metabolism tends to slow as you age and there's a good chance that if you continue with your current dietary habits you'll become obese in the future. Perhaps you should eat a salad," suggested Castiel.

"Wow, you sure know how to sweet talk a guy. Listen here, pal, I eat the food of warriors."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "I wasn't aware you were a warrior."

"Potential warrior."

"More like potential BMI record holder."

"So. Coffee. You in?" Dean threw his plate in the garbage and began to walk towards the door.

Castiel shrugged. "Fine."

*** 

There was a coffee shop-slash-bookstore a block away. Dean and Castiel walked there together. Dean spent the entire time talking about his car, which he'd pointed to in the parking lot as they'd passed by. He was clearly a Person Who Cares Too Much About Their Car, which Castiel would typically find annoying. However, with Dean it was slightly endearing how boyish he looked as he rambled on using terminology Castiel doubted he would ever understand. From what he gathered, the car was old, vintage, in good working condition, and "purred". He tuned out for awhile and satisfied himself by watching how animated Dean became, gesturing with both arms and acting out the repairs he did on the car. It was nice, refreshing to be around someone completely unashamed of who they were.

The coffee shop was small but lovely. The walls were lined with bookshelves and the coffeeshop part was in the front, with a wooden floor. Behind it, the floor turned to carpet, and tall bookshelves stood nervously together. There were beanbags besides some of them, and outside was a small patio with white tables and chairs. There was even a second floor to the place which you could climb to using wooden ladders.

"Is this heaven?" asked Castiel.

"Big fan of coffee and books?"

"That sentence basically summed up nine-tenths of my existence."

"Hmm." Dean tapped on the counter, getting the attention of the woman behind it making coffees. She walked over and smiled at him. "Usual for me, Ellen."

"No problem." The woman looked over at Castiel. "How about you, hon?"

"Um, decaf Americano with a shot of vanilla."

"Right on it." She turned to busy herself with the machines behind her.

"That's Ellen. She's Jo's mom," said Dean.

"No way."

"Yeah way. She's also dating Bobby. You know, the guy who looks like a redneck."

"Is everyone related to everyone in your life?" asked Castiel. "I mean, what are the odds that I would end up working in a grocery with the daughter of the co-founder of a support group my sister had been urging me to go to for weeks?"

"I'm not even going to try to answer that," Dean replied. "So, what's your favorite?" He motioned to the shelves.

"Book?" He nodded. "The last one I read, actually. _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo_."

"My little brother has a hard on for that book," Dean said.

"Literally?"

"No, not literally! Joking, Cas."

"Oh. I see. I have met people like that before."

"What - people who get hard ons for books?"

He nodded.

"Holy shit. Where?"

"My little sister Anna hung out with a very strange mixture of individuals during her time at college."

Dean stared at him for a second, then shook his head. "Yeah, I guess so. Jesus." He chuckled a little bit. "Wow."

"Dean!" Ellen called, placing two coffee cups on the counter. Dean retrieved them, handed her some money, got his change and went to sit down at a table in the left corner. He handed Castiel his drink on the way and asked him, "So, did you just get back? I haven't seen you before."

"A few months ago." Castiel took the seat across from Dean. "I've been living with my sister and nephew for awhile. I just moved out and got my own apartment."

"That's good," said Dean. "Sometimes it works, you know. Just acting normal for awhile."

"Does it work often?" asked Castiel skeptically.

"Nah, not really. But sometimes."

"Hmm." Castiel sipped his coffee. It was warm and sweet and much better than what he brewed at home. "I haven't had coffee this good in weeks," he said. "I tried making it myself, but ..." He let the sentence trail away with a shrug.

"So what's she like? Your sister," asked Dean.

"She's ..." Castiel smiled. "She's great. She's a brain - the first one in our family to go to college. It's a tradition for the men to enlist as soon as they finish high schools and for the women to get married and start a family."

"But she said 'fuck it'?"

"Figuratively, yes. In actuality, she was much more polite about the entire thing. Polite but firm. She knew what she wanted to do and how she wanted to do it and no one could stop her. She's a professor of Victorian literature now, and she works on the side as a translator. She speaks Latin, French and German. She's very smart. Much smarter than I am."

Dean looked as if he knew what Castiel meant. "Yeah, it's kind of the same thing for Sam, my little brother. Except he's a lawyer. But my family didn't have a huge history of college either - neither my mom or my dad went. There wasn't an incredible amount of resistance there, though - everyone knew Sam was way too nerdy for his own good. At first, Dad was kind of pissed about it, like he felt like Sam was abandoning his family. But he came around when Sam got a full ride to Stanford."

"Nice."

"I know." Castiel loved the look on Dean's face when he talked about his brother. The pride radiated off of him. He knew the feeling - he'd told as many people as possible about his genius sister when Anna had first taken off.

"So what about you?" he asked, drinking more of his coffee. "What do you do?"

Dean shrugged. "Some guys on my mom's side of the family wanted me to join the army, but I knew I was never going to - not after what it did to my dad. I got a job at Bobby's car garage after high school, but he retired early and now I own the place. It's still called 'Singer's Autos' though."

"Singer's Autos?"

"You know it?"

"I've passed by it before."

"Well, if your car ever goes haywire on you, stop by. I'll give you the friends and family discount."

"Good to know."

"So did you ever consider following in your sister's footsteps? You know, going to college?" asked Dean.

"Honestly, no. The military was such a huge part of my life as a child. I remember I had this set of toy soldiers I used to play with. Half of them were green and half of them were black. I'd always use the black ones and my friends would use the green ones and we'd have mini wars where we'd try to crush each other's soldiers. I never considered another option."

"Do you wish you had?"

"I don't know. I thought war was just a game, growing up. I expected to kill a few enemy soldiers and run into battle heroically. Instead I ended up bombing civilians and picking up pieces of my friends and shooting at boys who looked like they couldn't even be in high school yet. But ... when I look back, I don't know what else I could have done."

"What else do you like to do?"

"Well ..." Castiel's lips twisted into a half smile. "When I was a kid, I used to like to draw."

"Yeah?" Dean's face lit up. "Show me."

"I don't have it with me," explained Castiel. "Art was my favorite subject in school, and the only one I ever got A's on. I struggled in my other classes. Especially math."

" _Math_ ," groaned Dean. "Don't even get me started on math. I was the stupidest kid in my school."

"Different skill set," Castiel corrected him.

"What?"

"It's something Anna used to say to me when I called myself dumb. She told me that everyone has different skill sets. For example, I can play the piano much better than she can, but she was always a faster reader than I was. Everyone's good at different things. Not succeeding in one area of life doesn't make you stupid."

"Are you coming next week?" Dean asked suddenly.

"Most likely. Why?"

"I -" Dean hesitated. "It just - it would be cool if you did."

"Yes, I probably will," said Castiel. "It was much better than I expected, though I'm still not entirely comfortable with the concept."

"What, taking your head apart and examining it? Most people aren't, at first. You wanna know what helps?"

Castiel waited for him to tell him, but Dean just looked at him expectantly, and Castiel realized that he was actually asking if he was interested in knowing.

"Sure."

"Talking with someone one on one. It doesn't have to be anybody you know. Some people actually prefer spilling their guts to a stranger. I actually know some good websites for anonymous chatting."

"I don't know ... telling someone I've never met my intimate secrets?" Castiel made a face.

"It could be someone you know well, then. Someone you're comfortable around. Someone you trust."

"I don't know anyone like that," said Castiel. "I mean, Anna is the first person that comes to mind, but I don't want to burden her with that."

"You'd be surprised. She might appreciate it." Dean caught a glimpse of the look on Castiel's face and laughed. "Or not. I get it, man. I wouldn't want to talk to Sam about that sort of thing. Any friends?"

"I'm not really close to any of my friends from before. I haven't even seen most of them in years."

"Well, that's your first order of business, then. Go meet some people, have some fun. When's the last time you went out and had fun?"

"I ... I can't remember."

Dean shook his head. "That's just sad."

"I'm not a huge fan of parties, or clubs ... or anything social, really."

Dean shrugged. "Fine. Find something you _are_ a fan of."

"Like what?"

"Like ..." Dean looked around, then turned back to him and said, "Do you like this song?" motioning to the ceiling, where a song was playing.

"That's a bit of a non sequitur."

"Just answer the question."

Castiel listened for a moment. "It's fairly enjoyable."

"Okay." Dean got to his feet. "Then dance."

" _What?_ " Castiel gaped at him.

"Come on, dance." Dean began to sway back and forth slowly.

" _No!_ "

"Why not?"

"We're in the middle of a coffee shop!"

"Oh, it's okay." Dean did a little spin. "Ellen doesn't mind."

"We're ..." Castiel scrambled for another excuse. When none came to mind, he said lamely, "We can't just start _dancing_."

"Hmm." Dean put his arms out, presenting himself. "Apparently we can."

"Good God," Castiel muttered. People were beginning to stare and he ducked his head. "This is humiliating."

"It's only humiliating if you make it humiliating." Dean offered his hand. "Come on."

Castiel shook his head.

"Come _on_."

Castiel shook his head again. " _No._ " He was beginning to laugh in spite of himself.

"See? You're already beginning to enjoy yourself. Don't leave me dancing alone," said Dean.

Castiel sighed and looked Dean straight in the face. Dean looked perfectly sincere. "Dean ..." he groaned, his resistance crumbling quickly.

"Cas," Dean groaned back.

Castiel took Dean's hand and got to his feet. A grin unfurled itself across Dean's face as he moved closer and put a hand on Castiel's waist, moving him in a circle slowly.

"This is stupid," Castiel said, cheeks flaming, purposefully trying not to make eye contact with any of the people watching them. Instead, he focused on Dean's face.

"Okay - spin!" Dean pushed him away and lifted their hands, knotted together, above his head. Castiel just stood there.

"I'm not going to spin," he said. "You spin."

"I'll only spin if you spin."

"Fine. We'll both spin."

And they both spun around.

Castiel began laughing harder. He couldn't help it. He felt odd, out of practice, and his laugh came out strangely warped, but Dean didn't seem to notice.

They ended up pressed together again. This time, Castiel began leading. "You know, in my school, they made us take dancing in P.E.," he said.

"No _way_." Dean's eyes widened in horror. "That sounds like hell."

"Speak for yourself. I happen to be an excellent dancer," boasted Castiel.

"Yeah, I can tell. God, still. That sounds horrible. What kind of dancing?"

"We touched on many styles. Cha-cha, rumba, salsa, foxtrot, tango, and your elementary waltzes and square dances, of course."

"Of course," mimicked Dean.

"My specialty was foxtrot."

"I bet it was."

"That's actually how I realized I was gay."

"Really?"

"Yes, I got paired up with an incredibly attractive senior boy. He was captain of the swim team _and_ the track team and I'd had a crush on him for quite awhile without being aware of it. I remember practicing the steps after school in my bedroom, hoping to impress him. When we finally danced together, I looked at him and thought, _I really like this_. Followed by, _Holy shit, I think I'm gay_."

"Did it work out with him?"

"No. He was, in fact, heterosexual."

"Pity."

"Yes," Castiel said, and sighed dramatically. "Also, he wasn't the best conversationalist. I tried to chat him up outside the locker room once, but he mostly grunted."

"High school boys. You should have seen me at sixteen - grunts were about ninety-five per cent of my communication skills."

Castiel laughed, and the song ended. He and Dean separated and the coffee shop burst into applause. His body reacted before his mind, tensing immediately and scanning the room for threats. He relaxed himself quickly enough, noticed Dean was taking bows, and followed his example. His face was flaming red. He hadn't realized that everyone had been watching them.

"I have to get going," said Dean as Castiel sat back down.

"Oh. Okay. I'll probably stay here and look at books," he replied, fighting off a wave of disappointment.

"So I'll see you next week?"

"Yes. Definitely."

"Cool. Talk later?"

Castiel nodded. "Talk later."

Dean grinned at him, threw the cup away, and walked out of the cafe. Castiel stared after him a moment. He was still grinning like an idiot. He couldn't stop. He threw his cup in the same trash bin and retreated into the bookstore, hoping to hide his face until he stopped acting like a teenager, crushing on the captain of the swim team all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song they're dancing to is "Tower of Learning" by Rufus Wainwright.


	5. Chapter Four

###  Chapter Four 

Castiel wasn't sure he could wait a full week until he saw Dean again. Luckily, he didn't have to. Early Monday morning he was working the cash register when Dean walked up and put a pie on the conveyor belt.

"Good morning, sir," said Dean. "I'd like to purchase this pie, please."

"Ah, the pie. A fine choice," said Castiel, mimicking his formal tone. "Apple is our specialty."

"Did you know," said Dean, dropping the act, "that you're just about the only place in town that sells pies?"

"Is that so?" Castiel was fairly certain that both Albertson's and Fred Meyers sold pies at well, but he didn't bother correcting Dean. "That's good, I suppose. Bringing in customers."

"Yeah," Dean said as Castiel handed his change. "I really like pies. They're like, my life. So, you know, I might be back. A lot."

"Hmm. And that's it?" asked Castiel, keeping a perfect poker face.

"What's it?"

"You're only coming in for the pies?"

"Yeah, duh. What else would I be coming in for?" Dean raised an eyebrow. A challenge.

"I don't know. We have many attractions here," said Castiel.

"Believe me, I've noticed," said Dean, picking up his pie and walking towards the exit. "Nice frock, by the way," he called over his shoulder.

"Bye," Castiel said after him. He looked down at his frock. It really was hideous.

Jo wolf-whistled from behind him and he jumped. He hadn't noticed her putting more chicken soup on a shelf nearby. She stuck her tongue out at him like a toddler.

"Stop it," he said.

"Smooth move, FedEx," she replied, darting away.

Dean came back Tuesday at two. Castiel was restocking the frozen pizzas when he sidled up to him. "I love pizzas," he said as a greeting.

"I assumed you would, given your tendency for choosing the foods most detrimental to you," replied Castiel, not looking up from his task.

"So what? You don't eat pizza?"

"On occasion. But I eat _good_ pizza."

"Good pizza. So the pizza _I_ like is _bad_?"

"Do you get your pizza from Domino's or Pizza Hut?"

"Yes."

"Then yes, Dean, I would consider that bad pizza."

"Okay then, Mr. Sanctimonious, where do you get your pizza?" Dean folded his arms and leaned against the freezer next to Castiel.

"Angelino Pizzeria," replied Castiel. "They offer pizza, calzones and salads."

"Angelino? Don't know it," said Dean. "You want to show me some time?"

"Like a date?"

"Not just like a date. A date," said Dean. "When's your lunch break?"

Castiel closed the freezer door and turned to face Dean. "I've already taken my break today."

"Then tomorrow," said Dean easily. "Cool if I pick you up at twelve?"

Castiel copied Dean's posture of folding his arms and leaning against the freezer.

"What?" asked Dean immediately.

Castiel raised an eyebrow and waited.

" _What_?" Dean said again.

Castiel sighed and shook his head slowly.

"Oh. I see." Dean took a deep breath and said formally, "Castiel, may I have the pleasure of accompanying you to Angelino's Pizzeria at twelve o'clock tomorrow? I will provide the transportation and the payment."

"Better," said Castiel. "I would love to go to Angelino's with you tomorrow."

"Good. See you then," said Dean.

"Okay."

"Okay."

They just stared at each other. Dean grinned. "Talk later?"

"Talk later."

*** 

That night was a bad one.

It was a sort of half-sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. He'd finally drift off to sleep only to wake up with a dead body in bed next to him. Reality was subjective and dreams were idiosyncratic. Once again, he would jerk back to reality drenched in sweat.

At three o'clock in the morning he gave up. He put an ice pack on his head and, when that didn't work, turned the sink on to cold and put his face underneath. Then he watched TV. He only had thirteen channels, which consisted of paid programming, infomercials and a special report on colon cancer. He watched that for a little bit. It didn't help.

By seven o'clock he was irritable. By eight, he was downright unpleasant. He grunted hello to Jo, stalked around the delivery room, and slammed everything on to the shelves with an unnecessary amount of force. He also managed to knock over two displays.

"Somebody's cranky," Jo muttered, and he gave her a look of such utmost disgust that she gave up any further attempts to converse with him.

Dean was expecting something very different when he picked him up.

"Hey, watch the car!" he protested as Castiel slammed the passenger door. "What's wrong with you, man?"

"I didn't sleep last night."

"At all?"

Castiel shrugged and then slowly shook his head.

"I know what you need," said Dean decisively, and spun a U-turn in the middle of the street which was applauded by a symphony of horns.

"Jesus!" Castiel grabbed the seat, heart accelerating. "Your driving is horrendous," he complained, "and the pizza place is in the other direction."

"Fuck the pizza place. You need to wake up. And to stop acting like such a bitch."

Castiel scowled. "I am not a bitch."

"No, you're not. That's why you've got to stop acting like one, because you're pretty far out of character, if you ask me."

"So where are we going?"

Dean grinned. "My place."

His place was an apartment building which was a great deal nicer than Castiel's. Castiel noticed immediately at his entered Dean's how nice it was - the furniture was the right shape and color, the windows were bigger and with fewer scratches, the walls were evenly painted with no cracks, and nobody was blasting porn - or, if they were, the walls were thick enough to mask the sound. Dean went immediately to the kitchen, poured a glass of orange juice, and said, "Drink this."

"Why?"

"Just drink it, Cas. God."

Castiel obeyed. "I don't like orange juice," he said as he downed half the glass. "I like coffee." He finished it off.

"No coffee. That makes it worse. Now drink this." He put a glass of V8 in front of him and transferred a food item from his refrigerator to the microwave.

"Vegetable juice?"

"Nike, Cas."

Castiel stared at him.

"Just _do_ it."

He drank the glass of V8 in a few gulps. "I don't like this either."

"Now this." Dean handed him a cup of apple juice.

Castiel drank it in two gulps. "That was all right," he admitted grudgingly, holding the cup out to Dean for more. Dean filled it up and handed him the item from the microwave - cooked broccoli. He also gave him a small helping of almonds and baby carrots.

"I take it back." Castiel ate the food which was, all together, not terrible. "You are _very_ healthy."

Dean grinned. "Nah, man. This is hangover food."

"But I don't have a hangover."

"Same principle. Your body is deprived of nutrients - you know, vitamins and minerals and shit. This has all that in it, so you eat it, and it makes you feel better. Gets your body running properly again."

"I don't feel anything."

"That's because you haven't _eaten_ it yet, you fucktard."

"Hey!" Castiel threw a carrot stick at him. Dean picked it up and popped it into his mouth.

"So, first date. Not bad, huh?"

"First date," Castiel scoffed. "You base that on the assumption that there will be a second."

"Ouch!" Dean put a hand on his chest as if mortally wounded. "You hurt me, Cas," he said in a faux-injured voice. "I'd take that to heart if you weren't so whiny today."

Castiel flipped him off. Dean made a kissy face back.

"I want more food," he said, eating the last carrot stick. "What else do you have that's healthy?"

Dean opened his refrigerator. "Uh, I've got some yogurt. Yogurt's good, right?"

"What else?"

"Beer. Nachos. Oo! Pie!" He pulled the pie he'd purchased on Monday out. Half of it was already gone.

"Oh my God, I just consumed the only good food in your entire apartment. Now your arteries will surely clog." Castiel took the yogurt out. He didn't bother getting a spoon, he just sipped it straight from the container. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"This is the most I've eaten since I got back." Castiel nodded and sucked up some more yogurt. "Most days I just drink coffee or eat sunflower seeds."

"Really." Dean examined him closely.

"Yes." Castiel licked the yogurt clean and put it down on the counter. "It's hard to remember how good it tastes."

"It is excellent, isn't it? Even that rabbit stuff you eat."

" _Rabbit stuff_." Castiel rolled his eyes. "Your ancestors feasted on that."

"Perhaps, and then they invented fast food so I wouldn't have to." Dean took a beer out of the fridge. "Want one?"

Castiel shook his head. Dean popped the cap off and drank straight from the bottle. "So, what was keeping you up?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I was having nightmares, but I have nightmares every night, and usually I don't sleep quite so poorly."

"Were you stressed out? Anxious over something?" Dean watched as Castiel suddenly went red. "What?"

"I ... I suppose I might have been thinking a lot about our date," he muttered.

"Oh really?" Castiel couldn't stand the smug look which suddenly appeared on his face. "Well, it's not the first time my good looks have kept people up," he sighed. "It happens all the time. I wish I could turn it off, but I just can't help how unbelievably attractive -"

"Stop," Castiel groaned.

"Wow, Cas, I've never seen you so bashful. Are you sure it was nightmares and not, erm, _different_ types of dreams?" Dean suggested.

"Well, if I'd known how poorly the date would go, I wouldn't have bothered."

"There he is." Dean took another sip of his beer. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Cas. I might start dating people who actually like me."

"For the record, my nightmares were because you were so ugly, not because of your sex appeal."

"You think I'm ugly?"

"Hideous."

"Really," said Dean, moving around the counter so he was facing him.

"Yes, really."

"How about now?" Dean took a few steps forward so that they were inches away.

Castiel took a deep breath. "Disgusting," he said halfheartedly.

"And now?" Dean asked, pressing their foreheads together.

"I can barely stand to look at you."

"Pity," said Dean, straightening up and walking away. "I was gonna kiss you, too."

"Wait, what?" Castiel stood up and followed him. "I didn't say stop."

Dean turned to face him. "How could I kiss someone who finds me so gross?"

"Try to change my mind."

"That," said Dean, moving towards him, "is a very good point." And with that, he took a final step and pressed their lips together.

It was awkward at first, a bit clumsy. It had been so long since Castiel had kissed anyone. But he got back in the habit quickly, like riding a bicycle. Soon they were moving together in sync. Castiel's hands traveled down Dean's sides to his waist and Dean brought both hands to Castiel's face.

Castiel knotted his fingers through Dean's belt loops and pulled their hips closer together. Dean mumbled something into his mouth and moved his fingers through his hair, tousling it. Castiel put both hands on Dean's back and leaned into it further.

It was too soon that they pulled away, grasping for breath. "So I take it you don't find me hideous anymore?" Dean asked, looking around for his beer bottle.

"Congratulations," said Castiel, not quite as dryly as he'd been going for.

Dean found his beer bottle and raised an eyebrow. "So, you know, we _are_ in my apartment."

Castiel shot him down with a pointed glare. "It's our first date, you ass."

"First date." Dean grinned. "Implying that there will be a second."

"Don't push it," Castiel warned.

"Okay. But good first date, right?" Dean asked.

Castiel allowed himself to smile back. "Very good first date," he reassured him.

"I'm glad," said Dean honestly.

"Sorry about earlier," Castiel said, already ashamed of his behavior.

"What? Acting like a dick?"

"Yes," he said. "I should warn you, that's one of the hazards of pursuing a relationship with me."

"I think I can handle it," said Dean.

Castiel thought so too.


	6. Chapter Five

###  Chapter Five 

Friday morning found Castiel lying in bed, too tired to move. He was supposed to be at work in fifteen minutes and couldn't bring himself to sit up. His muscles felt like lead, and his eyes couldn't decide whether they wanted to be opened or closed - both options seemed equally painful. He summed up enough energy to call Jo and tell her he was sick and couldn't come in today. After that he spent most of the day staring at the ceiling and drifting in and out of consciousness.

He hoped that by Saturday morning he'd be able to get up for the support group, but no such luck. So instead he spent the following night in a sort of trance state, and didn't know it was morning until he heard a knock on the door.

He didn't even consider moving, hoping that whoever it was would assume he wasn't home and leave. But the knocking continued, and Dean's voice called, "Cas? You home?"

"Yes," he called back, propping himself up on the bed with his elbows.

"I'm coming in!"

"It's locked!" he yelled, but then he heard the lock click and the door open and shut. He frowned as Dean walked into the bedroom. "How did you do that?"

"I'm good at picking locks."

"You delinquent." Castiel laid back down on the bed.

"Jo said you were sick."

"Yes, because I am."

"Hmm. Blueberry?" Dean held out a plastic baggie full of blueberries to him.

"No, thank you," said Castiel, burying himself under the covers.

"Are you sure? I figured they'd be right up your alley, being healthy and all."

"I'm sure," Castiel mumbled into his pillow.

"Blueberries are very low in saturated fats," said Dean in a monotone. "They're also low in Cholesterol and Sodium, and they're a good source of dietary fiber."

"I don't want any fucking blueberries."

"They're a good source of vitamins, too. Vitamin C, Vitamin K, and Manganese."

"Fine!" Castiel snapped, tossing back the covers. "I'll have a blueberry!"

"You sure? I have more nutrition facts, if you want to hear them. I looked them up online, just to make sure these would meet your requirements."

"Just give me a blueberry," said Castiel, sitting up and holding out a hand. Dean placed the entire bag in his hand and sat down on the edge of the bed. The blueberries were very good, juicy and sweet. Castiel had only meant to take one, but he ended up eating more.

"So what's the deal, Cas?"

"I told you." Castiel stuffed more blueberries in his mouth. "I'm sick."

"You don't look sick."

"Looks can be deceiving." Castiel shoved another hand into the bag and decided to come clean. "Sometimes I get very tired," he said, "to the point where I can't get up."

"Like, you can't even stand up?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Can I have a blueberry?"

He reluctantly offered the bag to Dean. Dean snatched it and stood up.

"What are you doing, Dean?" Castiel asked.

"I thought you didn't want blueberries," said Dean, eating one and making a face.

"I changed my mind. Give them back."

"Come and get them."

" _Dean_ ," Castiel groaned. "Come _on_."

" _Cas_ ," Dean said back. "You just need to stand up and take two steps."

"This isn't funny." Castiel glared at him. "It really isn't."

Dean shrugged and ate another blueberry.

Castiel stood up, every muscle aching. He took a step over to Dean and grabbed the bag back.

"See? Not too bad," said Dean.

"Fuck you," growled Castiel.

"Okay," Dean agreed. "Don't lay back down," he added as Castiel made a movement back towards the bed.

"Why shouldn't I?" Castiel didn't stop moving towards it.

Dean grabbed his wrist. "Bad for digestion. Come sit at the table."

"Too far."

"It's ten steps away."

"Ten steps too far."

"Do I have to drag you?"

"As if you could," Castiel scoffed. The next thing he knew, his feet were off the ground and Dean had slung him over his shoulder.

"Dean!" he yelled as Dean carried him over to the table. "Put me down!"

"With pleasure." Dean put him into one of the chairs and rolled his shoulder a few times. "You're heavier than you look."

"This is fucking ridiculous!" Castiel shouted. "You can't just barge into my apartment, Dean! I'm not a child!"

"Then stop acting like one!" Dean shouted back.

Castiel stared at him. No one had actually gotten mad at him in retaliation before, unless you counted the time he told Anna he was moving out, which he didn't. She'd been more upset than angry, and she certainly hadn't been as angry as Dean was now. He looked like he might hit him.

"You're hiding, Cas!" Dean yelled. "I don't just mean in your apartment, I mean you're hiding behind this whole mental illness! You don't even try to get help! You act like, I don't know, it's a key part of your personality! It's not! It's a disease, like cancer! You need to get treatment!"

"I don't want treatment," said Castiel calmly.

"Exactly. You'd rather treat people badly and isolate yourself and skip out on work."

Castiel glowered at him. Dean met his gaze coolly. "It's my choice," he said.

"And this is mine."

Castiel glanced around. "It's almost time for the support group. You should go."

"Come with me."

"I can't."

Dean sat down across the table from him. "I'm going where you go, Cas."

"What about your father?"

"Fuck that. I'm not leaving here without you."

Castiel could tell there was no way he was going to change Dean's mind. Still, he said, "That's stupid," and ate more blueberries. The silence stretched on for a minute, and then Dean wrinkled his nose and said, "Is your neighbor watching porn?"

All the tension left the room. Castiel burst into laughter, a deep sort of belly laugh that he hadn't done in years. It really wasn't that funny, but he laughed until tears sprang into his eyes. Dean chuckled too.

"He always listens to porn," Castiel gasped. "Nonstop. Twenty-four seven."

"Oh my God," said Dean in disgust, staring at the wall. Then a sly grin came on to his face and he said "Uhh" loudly.

"What are you doing?" Castiel asked, frowning at him.

Dean just nodded at the wall. Then, louder, he said: " _Uhhh_."

Castiel went red when he realized what Dean was doing. "Dean, stop."

Dean put up a finger, silencing him. He began moaning loudly. Castiel buried his face in his hands as Dean grew louder and louder. Then he heard his neighbor's porn click off.

He looked up, beginning to giggle like a little kid. Dean had to hold back his own louder as he began pounding the table with his hand and yelling "Yes! Yes! Yes!" over and over. Castiel was laughing so hard that his shoulders shook and he pressed both hands over his mouth to keep from making a sound and ruining Dean's performance.

When he finally hit the orgasm part, he howled so loudly that Castiel couldn't contain himself and burst into bales of laughter. Dean joined him, almost falling out of his chair from laughter. Castiel was almost choking. All they could hear from the other room was silence.

They'd finally managed to stop laughing, only to start up again when the porn started up again, the volume turned up even higher. Castiel was finally distracted when he looked down and saw that his bag was empty. "The blueberries," he whispered.

"That's okay," said Dean, still guffawing. "Let's go get some more." With that, he got up and put on his coat. Castiel jumped up and changed into a sweater and jeans. It never occured to him not to follow - his fatigue had vanished.

*** 

"So, second date and you've already heard my sex noises," said Dean conversationally as they walked through the produce department of the grocery store. A woman shopping for bananas glanced up, shocked.

"Yes, that's the firm basis for every successful relationship," Castiel replied, picking up a sample of apple slices. "How did you know my address, anyway?"

"Got it from Jo," said Dean.

"And how does Jo know my address?"

"She dug it up from Crowley's office."

"And Crowley was okay with that?"

"I don't think he noticed," said Dean. "His car got egged and that ate up a lot of his time."

"Hmm. I wonder what sort of heinous criminal could have done _that_."

"I wonder."

"Maybe the same sort who picks locks to break into people's apartments and manhandle them?"

"Maybe." Dean looked into Castiel's grocery basket and wrinkled his nose. "How are you even still alive?" he muttered.

"This," said Castiel, motioning to the strawberries, yogurt, tomatoes and canned beans he'd picked out, "is healthy. Almost all of the major food groups are covered."

"Ugh." Dean shook his head. "You're like my mom. She was a huge health nut."

"So was mine," said Castiel. "She passed it on to my sister."

"And to you, apparently."

"Well ..." Castiel hesitated and bit his lip. "Can I tell you something I've never told another soul?"

"Go for it."

"I like junk food."

Dean's mouth fell open. " _What_?"

"I know," Castiel sighed. "I'm so ashamed."

"But what about all that stuff about me getting fat? All that stuff about how unhealthy I am?"

"That's the problem," said Castiel. "I love it too much. The fries and chips and chocolate and beer and burgers. Especially the burgers. I wasn't gifted with your metabolism, Dean. I ate like you did, I'd swell up to twice my size. And if I eat it even once, I won't be able to stop myself."

"So you avoid it like the plague."

"Indeed."

Dean stared at him. "Wow, Cas. I can't look at you the same way."

"Oh, shut up." Castiel considered throwing a grape at him. Instead, he walked to the checkout line. "In middle school, I was fat."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Sixth and seventh grade were hell. In the summer before eighth grade, my mother signed me up for the swim team. By ninth grade, I was healthy. Even a bit ripped."

"Swim team." Dean squinted at him. "The swim team with the captain you had a crush on?"

"The very same."

"Wow." Dean whistled. "That must have been ... um ... _hard_."

"Tell me about it. I hadn't mastered the picture-dead-kittens trick yet."

"That sucks, man."

"To make matters worse, we had to wear Speedos."

"Seriously? My God. How did you manage?"

"I masturbated quite a bit back then."

The woman behind them in the checkout line, the same who'd been startled by Dean's comment on sex noises, looked at Castiel like he'd just murdered firstborn child. Castiel just stared back. Dean hid his face in his hands.

Outside the store, Castiel said, "Where to now?"

"I've got a good idea for our second date," said Dean.

"Did you find it online?"

Dean frowned at him as he got into the seat of his car. "How did you know?"

"You seem the type," replied Castiel as he climbed into the passenger seat.

"Hold on a minute. 'I seem the type'? What does _that_ mean?"

"The type who gets insecure about trying to choose dates and consults people on the internet in the hopes that their expertise is greater than his own."

"Okay, smartass, you choose the date."

"All right. Would you prefer to view an art gallery or go find a comfortable place to take a nap?"

"So we'll stick with my idea, then."

"Which is?"

"First, we need to go back to my place."

"Oh." Castiel paused.

"Oh?"

"I now see what your plan is."

"First off, shut up. Second, that wasn't actually what I had in mind. And third, shut up," said Dean. "We're gonna watch a movie, stupid."

"What movie?"

"You can choose."

"From your selection?"

"Of course." Dean looked at him pointedly. "You can tell a lot about a person by their movie choice. _A lot_."

"So this is a test? And please keep your eyes on the road."

"A bit. And I'm good."

"You're not good if you're not watching the road. That's a safety hazard, Dean."

"Hey Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

*** 

Castiel encountered a problem as he surveyed Dean’s movies. They were all loud, violent and fast. He could choose between the Dark Knight trilogy, Avengers, Inception, Kick-Ass, Iron Man, every Die Hard movie imaginable, Star Wars, and Kill Bill. Having a panic attack was not the way he wanted to spend his time with Dean.

"Picked something yet?" Dean called from the other room as he made popcorn in the microwave.

"Not yet." Castiel dug frantically through the cases and finally pulled out a VCR version of _Justice League: the New Frontier_. He squinted at it, confused why Dean, a man well into his thirties, owned a child’s cartoon. Nevertheless, it seemed to be the best choice, as the movie was aimed at an easily scared audience. "I’ve got it."

"What is it?" Dean walked into the room with bags of popcorn that reeked of too much butter. When he saw the movie, he groaned. "Seriously, man? That?"

Castiel just nodded and handed him the VCR.

"God, Sam and I used to watch that every night when we were kids. It was horrible. I bet I have the entire thing memorized," said Dean, putting the VCR into DVD-slash-VCR player.

"I never saw this one."

"What did you and Anna watch when you were kids?"

"We didn’t own a television."

"Really?" Dean stared at him. "Why not?"

"My mother believed it would rot our brains."

"Wow." Dean whistled. "So what did you do in your free time?"

"We read books and played in the backyard and made up stories and acted them out," said Castiel. "I remember when we were ten I was Superman for Halloween and she was Blossom from the Powerpuff girls. The night before Halloween, we put on a play for my mother in which Superman and Blossom teamed up to rescue the world from the invasion of the evil robot alien monsters." He smiled fondly at the memory.

"Sounds like you and Anna were really close," said Dean.

"We had to be," said Castiel. Dean looked at him questioningly, and he continued. "My mother died when Anna and I were thirteen. She was hit by a drunk driver. Our father was never in the picture, so unfortunately Anna and I were sent to stay with our relatives, my uncle Zachariah, my aunt Naomi and their son, Uriel. Unfortunately, none of them wanted much to do with Anna and I. Naomi and Zachariah were divorced and often they would ship us between the two of them, arguing over who got to keep us. Uriel was very mean, particularly towards Anna, because she was brave enough to challenge people when she believed they were wrong, while I was more obedient. Anna and I knew we had to get out of there as quickly as possible. She went to college, and I joined the military. That’s why I say I don’t know what else I could have done. I couldn’t spend any more time with them, but I didn’t have good enough academics to attend a school. Military always seemed to be the best choice."

"Jesus, Cas, I’m sorry."

Castiel looked at Dean, surprised. After all, what reason did he have to feel regret? "It’s fine. We had each other."

Dean shook his head. "Man, I thought my family was screwed up."

"Are they not?"

"We are," Dean assured him. "But we know it, and we try to fix it. We still love each other, you know?"

Castiel nodded. Just then, the opening credits to the movie started. Castiel and Dean both moved to the couch. They leaned against each other, sinking into each other’s skin as if they’d been doing it all their life. Castiel’s head ended up on Dean’s shoulder and Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and their legs tangled up together under a knit blanket. Dean snacked loudly on the popcorn and Castiel refused to eat it, even after Dean tried fruitlessly to persuade him to have a bite.

"So Superman’s your favorite, huh?" Dean whispered.

Castiel laughed. "That’s an understatement. As a child, I was convinced that I was Superman, and that my powers would activate any day and I’d save the world from aliens." _Back when I thought I could be a hero._ "Who's yours?"

"Batman," said Dean immediately. "He’s just such a BAMF. Dark evil avenger sort of thing. And the coolest part is, he doesn’t have any powers, just his brains."

"And lots of money."

"Which he got with his _brains_."

"Which he acquired from his wealthy parents."

"My _point_ is, take Superman’s powers away and he’s nothing. Batman’s just an ass-kicking dude."

"Excuse me?" Dean chuckled at how offended Castiel sounded. "How many villains have believed they could beat Superman by throwing a chunk of kryptonite at him? Many, Dean. But they never have. Because Superman’s powers do not define him."

"No, but they certainly are convenient when he needs to stop missiles."

"Let’s talk about the body count in both series, shall we? Who ends up preserving more lives?"

"You look kind of like Superman," said Dean.

That did it. They didn’t even make it the first five minutes through the movie before Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s. 

It was dark. They moved together in unison, the blanket falling off of them as their mouths moved together, drawing away occasionally for breathe before pressing back into each other. It was all warm skin and hands and lips and mouths and tongues, and it would be silly to try to figure out where one of them ended and the other began. The movie continued for awhile and came to a gripping conclusion. 

Neither of them noticed.


	7. Chapter Six

###  Chapter Six 

The fatigue came back, of course. It took days, weeks even, but it always returned, often at the most inopportune of times. When it did, Castiel could rely on Dean to show up, always with food, and usually with a book or movie or a CD that "you just have to listen to, because man, the _sound_." Sometimes he'd be able to coax Castiel out of the house, but more often, they both ended up under the bed sheets together, whispering occasionally but otherwise silent and still.

In hindsight, Castiel realized that he should have seen it coming. He'd missed over a week of work in a month. It was a miracle it had taken him so long to be fired. The final straw was when he came in one day hyped up and knocked over two displays and pissed off Charlie and Kate by not listening to their story about their dream vacation in the Bahamas. Crowley called him into his office at the end of the day.

"Castiel, let me be completely honest," he said as he poured a drink. "You suck at this job. You show up late if you show up at all, and as much as I hate hearing Charlie and Kate prattle on about their sickening relationship, you're getting paid to do it."

"I'm sorry," said Castiel sincerely.

"I don't care," said Crowley shortly. He offered the bottle to Castiel, who shook his head. "This is your two week's notice. After that, you're done. Clear?"

"Is there anything I can say to change your mind?"

"Not a thing. Are we clear?"

Castiel sighed. "We're clear."

He didn't tell Jo, but judging by the sympathetic look on her face, she'd figured it out. "Sorry," she whispered as they exited the store together.

"It's fine. I'll just have to find another job," he said. "I'm going to work at a chain store," he added vindictively as he opened his car door.

"That'll teach him." Jo looked like she was fighting back a smile. "Pity drinks tonight?"

"No," he said shortly.

"Sorry, that came out sounding like a question. It really wasn't. You will be going our for pity drinks tonight. You can bring whoever you want. I suggest you invite your boyfriend if you want to have any fun at all. Eight thirty at the Foghead. I expect you to be on time!"

He growled unintelligibly and started his engine. She rolled her eyes and walked back to her car.

He found himself calling Anna on the way home.

"Cas? You okay?" she asked, picking up on the first ring. When they'd been children, living with their aunt and uncle, they'd always greeted each other with, "You okay?" just to make sure. They'd slipped out of practice when she'd gone to college and he'd enlisted, only to restart the tradition when he returned.

"I'm fine," he grumbled. "But one of my, uh, friends, Jo, is making me go out for drinks tonight at a pub."

"And you want me to come," Anna finished for him. There was something odd, something different in her voice. With a jolt, Castiel realized that she sounded happy.

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all, actually. Gabriel was going over to Ian's house and I was planning to have a night alone, but this sounds like much more fun. Who all is coming?"

"I'm not completely sure. Most likely Jo and Dean."

"Jo and Dean. I've heard those names before. Remind me who they are?"

"Jo is my friend and colleague." _Well, ex-colleague now._ "Dean is ..." His voice trailed away. "My boyfriend, I suppose. For lack of a better word."

"Well, I can't wait to meet them. I'll bring the baby pictures."

" _Anna_."

"Just kidding, Cas!" She laughed, actually _laughed_ , and hung up. Castiel stared into traffic, stunned. Had he just had a pleasant conversation with his sister? It had been so long - years, even. How strange.

He was unlocking his apartment door when he heard a phone ringing inside. Instantly he froze. He pushed the door open a crack, eyes flitting around his apartment. He was positive that he hadn't left the lights on.

He slipped his shoes off, treading carefully on the apartment floor, heart pounding. He heard footsteps around the corner and reacted immediately. He grabbed the man and slammed him against the wall, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Cas! Jesus!" The phone dropped to the floor.

"Dean." Castiel released him, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry. I heard an intruder and -"

"What kind of intruder leaves the lights on and talks on their cell phone? God." Dean retrieved his cell phone from the ground. "Yeah, Jo, I'm back. Sorry, Cas came home and scared me and I dropped it. What time again?"

"I'm going to the bathroom," Castiel muttered, walking away. His face was bright red. He closed the door behind him and ran cold water over his face, breathing deeply. "You have to control yourself," he told his reflection. It just stared back at him.

"Cas?" Dean knocked on the door.

"Just a minute." Castiel dried his face off with a towel and opened the door. "Dean, I'm so sorry," he said again.

"Don't apologize, man, it was my fault. If I'd stopped to think about it, I probably would have realized that breaking into your apartment and waiting for you to come home was a bad idea. Strawberry?" He offered a plastic baggie.

Castiel took a strawberry and said, "About that." He pulled a key out of his pocket and handed it to Dean.

"Is this a key to your place?" Dean asked, eyes widening.

"I know it's rather unnecessary, but when you wish to visit me, I'd prefer for you to use legal methods."

"Cas, you know what this means, right? Giving me a key to your apartment?"

"I'm well aware of the implications."

"Good." Dean pulled a key chain out of his pocket and attached the key to it. "Good," he said again, looking at it for a second before putting it back.

"My sister is accompanying us to the Foghead," said Castiel as Dean opened his mouth, presumably to suggest sex.

"Great." Dean closed his mouth, disappointed. Then he frowned and said, "Cas, maybe it's because I'm horny as fuck, but isn't something missing?"

"The wit behind that pick up line certainly is."

"No, seriously. Listen!"

Castiel was silent for a moment. "Dean, I don't hear anything." Then his eyes widened. " _Oh_."

"Exactly," said Dean.

"No porn," whispered Castiel.

"Think something's wrong?"

"I don't know. It's never stopped before."

"Should we check?"

"I don't know."

They stared at each other for a second. Dean seemed to make up his mind and walked out of the apartment and to the next door. Castiel trailed behind him.

Dean knocked firmly on the door. Once, twice. Nobody answered.

"I don't think anyone's home," said Castiel.

"Wait." Dean knocked one more time. This time, the door opened.

A young, attractive woman opened the door. She had long, dark hair and surveyed Dean with a look of disgust on her face. "Hello?"

"Hey, can we speak to whoever owns the place?" asked Dean.

"That would be me," she said. "What's up?"

Dean stared at her, eyes wide. He seemed too stunned to speak, so Castiel picked up helpfully. "Your pornography ceased. We were worried something was wrong."

"Oh." The woman eyed Castiel and her entire posture and voice changed. "Hey there."

"Hello," said Castiel, wondering why she was repeating her greeting. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Much better now, actually." She smiled at him, unfolding her arms and puffing out her chest to display her breasts more prominently. Dean snorted loudly.

"Oh. I see." Castiel was aware she was attempting to flirt with him but didn't know how to react. This wasn't a problem he had often. He'd warded off the advances of men, but women were a new area. He realized he hadn't broken eye contact with her for their entire conversation and looked down at his feet.

"Yeah, well, you seem okay, so let's go," said Dean, sounding annoyed.

"Wait a minute." The woman reached out and put a hand on Castiel's shoulder, stopping him. Dean stared at her arm pointedly, but she didn't move it. "I'm Ruby. What's your name, sweetheart?"

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. Ruby still didn't move her arm. Unsure of what to do, Castiel chose to simply answer the question. "Castiel."

"Castiel," she repeated. "That's a great name."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably and glanced at Dean, whose face was stony. He looked back at Ruby, who smiled wider.

"Just so we're clear," he said, "I am homosexual, and if you intend to pursue a relationship of a sexual nature with me, I'm afraid it wouldn't end up working out."

"Oh." Ruby let go of his arm and moved back slowly. Dean laughed meanly. She didn't even look at him. "Well, maybe I'll see you around."

"Doubt it," Dean said loudly. Ruby closed the door and he practically stomped back to Castiel's apartment. Castiel bit his cheek to keep from smiling.

"Bitch," Dean muttered, pacing around the apartment. "I can't believe she's the one who's been listening to pornography. I thought it would be some sweaty old dude."

"Yes. It's a bit of a stereotype breaker for her to be young and appealing," said Castiel mildly.

"Appealing?" Dean scoffed. "She wasn't that good."

"Dean, you are also aware I'm gay, correct?"

"Yeah, I know."

"So there's no need to be jealous of Ruby. You may have noticed that I don't reciprocate those feelings."

"Jealous? Ha!" Dean said moodily, opened the bag of strawberries so hard that it ripped open and they fell on the floor.

*** 

The bar was fairly crowded, but Jo already had a table when Dean and Castiel arrived. Sitting with her was a blonde woman and a tall man with brown hair. When Dean saw him, his face split into a grin, Ruby already forgotten. "Hey, Sammy!" he said, hugging the man. "Hey, Jess!" He hugged her as well.

"Hey, Dean," said Jess with a smile.

"This is Castiel," said Dean.

"Nice to meet you." Castiel shook hands with Jess and then Sam.

"Good to meet you, too," said Sam. "I'm Dean's brother, and this is my wife Jessica."

"I know," said Castiel.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "You know?"

"Dean's spoken about you before."

"Really? What did he say?"

"You're a lawyer and you used to watch a Justice League movie together."

"The Justice League!" Sam laughed. "That was my favorite movie when I was a kid! I had a huge crush on Wonder Woman."

Jess rolled her eyes. "Tell me about it. The first year we were dating we went to this Halloween party as Wonder Woman and Superman, because Sam swears there was something going on between them. Personally, I don't buy it."

"Sorry, Sam. Cas has already claimed the title of Superman, and there can be only one."

Castiel rolled his eyes and sank into one of the seats. Dean sat down next to him.

"Oo, first round!" said Jo as a server brought a platter of drinks over. "Sorry, Cas, I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a Long Island ice tea."

Castiel took an experimental sip and nodded. "It's good," he said. He wasn't completely lying - as alcoholic beverages went, it was one of the better ones. He would never drink it by choice, but if he was going to a bar, it was fine.

"Cas?"

"Anna!" He stood up and smiled at her as she made her way across the floor towards them. He hadn't seen his sister looking so done up in awhile - usually she had her hair pulled back and was in sweats and a t-shirt. Tonight she wore a lovely black dress with a white knit cardigan and small black high heels. She looked beautiful. He hugged her tightly and she smiled back at him.

"Hey, Cas," she said. She surveyed him and said, "You look a lot better."

Before he could digest that, she'd moved on, offering her hadn to everyone at the table. "Hello, I'm Anna, Cas's sister."

Everyone introduced themself, and Anna sat in the only open seat, across from Jo. Jo leaned forward as she sat down. "So, Anna. What do you do?"

"I'm a professor of Victorian literature," she said, "but I also work as a translator."

"Really? What languages do you speak?"

"Latin, French and German."

"Whoa." Jo looked impressed. "Check it out." She pulled her shirt collar down to reveal cursive writing on her back which read, _mundi, transacta, speculum_.

"World, performance, mirror," Anna read. "That's cool. What's it mean?"

"My favorite Shakespeare quote was 'All the world's a stage'," said Jo. "I made an edit, though. I was originally going to make it say 'The world is a stage and a stage is a mirror', but I decided for short and sweet."

"It's beautiful," said Anna, grazing her fingertips lightly across it. Dean looked at Castiel and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm gonna go get something else," said Dean, standing up. "Cas, you ever tried a purple nurple?"

"No, and I have no intention of doing so."

"Wise man," said Jess.

" _Purple nurple_?" asked Sam, wrinkling his nose.

"You don't want to know," Jess muttered to him.

"Cas, come on," said Dean, widening his eyes. Castiel realized that he had something to discuss with him that he didn't want to talk about in front of the others, so he nodded and stood up.

"RIP Cas," said Jess quietly as he walked away.

"We'll miss you, buddy," Sam called after them.

When they got to the bar, Dean turned to him. "Dude, did you notice that?"

"What?"

"You know ..." Dean motioned to the table, where Anna and Jo were deep in conversation. " _That_."

"Are you referring to the sexual tension between Jo and my sister?"

"Yeah!" Dean motioned to the bartender and said, "Purple nurple, please," before turning back to Castiel. "Maybe we should, y'know, set them up."

"Anna can handle her own personal affairs. I see no need to interfere."

"I've seen this before, Cas," said Dean, nodding profoundly. "They'll flirt and become best friends and hang out together 24/7, but they won't make a move until they're forced to. And besides, _look_." He spun Castiel to look at the table. Anna and Jo were still engaged in conversation and were leaning forward so that they were inches away from each other. Jess and Sam chatted separately. As they watched, Anna smiled down at the table and brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. Jo had the biggest grin on her face that Castiel had ever seen.

"They do seem happy," admitted Castiel, turning back to see Dean take another shot.

"We have to get them on the dance floor," said Dean, wincing at the flavor.

"Why?"

"That's the best way to get into someone's pants."

"Oh really."

"It worked on you." Dean winked.

"You haven't gotten into my pants just yet," Castiel reminded him.

"Noted. It's a work in progress. But if we begin dancing, Jess will make Sam dance too, providing Jo with the opportunity she needs to ask Anna to dance."

Castiel surveyed the dance floor and nodded. "Okay, I'll do it." He glanced at Dean as he took another shot. "I think that's enough purple nurples."

"You can never have too many purple nurples." Dean took another one.

"I'm pretty sure _one_ purple nurple is too many."

Dean abandoned the shot glasses and he and Castiel walked back to the table. "Dean and I are going to dance," Castiel announced. "Would anyone like to join us?"

"You dance?" Jo asked.

Anna laughed. "Remember high school P.E.?" She shook her head. "God, I was terrible. Cas was good, though. You should have seen his foxtrot." She looked at Jo and said, "Wanna dance, Jo?"

"Uh, sure." Jo's smile was so big Castiel wondered if it hurt her cheeks.

"Oo, dancing! Sounds like fun!" Jess grabbed Sam's hand. "Come on!" Sam gave Dean and Castiel a perfect bitchface as Jess pulled him on to the dance floor. Next thing he knew, Dean was pulling him into the mess of grinding, sweaty bodies too.

"If you try to grind, I'm leaving," he called to Dean, who just shook his head and laughed. Jo and Anna were eye-to-eye, chest-to-chest, laughing and jumping around. Jess had her arms wrapped around Sam's neck. Dean pulled Castiel's waist closer to his.

Castiel wasn't sure what it was - the loud music, the heat, the alcohol, the bodies jostling into him. But suddenly it all seemed very far away, like watching a grainy movie in a huge, hollow tunnel. His breathing was ragged and his heart was pounding and his palms were sweating and he just managed to gasp "I have to go to the bathroom" to Dean before pushing away from him into the crowd.

His vision was blurred and disoriented as he navigated through the mixture of people. He could feel things slamming into him but he didn't slow down. He didn't know where the bathroom was and couldn't think straight enough to ask, but he found a back door that opened into an alleyway behind the club and made it out just in time to throw up noisily.

"God damn it," he muttered in disgust. He pushed his hair away from his face and leaned against the wall, breathing deply. He glanced down the alleyway and saw that it was a popular hook up spot, judging by the moans and grunts echoing throughout it.

"Fuck." He wiped his mouth. He didn't want to go back into the club, back on the dance floor. Just thinking about it made him feel nauseous again. He swished saliva around in his mouth and spit a few times, trying to get rid of the smell of vomit. The alleyway was much cooler than the inside of the club, and pressing himself against the wall helped a lot.

It was humilating beyond belief that he couldn't do something so simple, so normal as go to a club with his friends. He pulled his knees up to his chest and tilted his head up towards the sky. He couldn't see any stars - the city was so bright on its own. He exhaled and watched his breath travel upwards like steam. He pulled out his cell phone and checked it. No missed calls.

He'd never felt so alone and so lonely at the same time. Before, there'd been a sort of peace of being on his own. No one to trespass on his thoughts, no one to worry about. He'd never found himself particularly craving human contact above isolation before. But now, it was like an itch that mapped itself across his skin. He didn't want to be by himself anymore.

He got to his feet slowly, testing the ground. Took a few steps. Convinced that he was all right, he opened the door and slipped back into the club.

"Could I have some water, please?" he asked the bartender, who nodded and quickly poured him a glass. He sipped it slowly, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing, trying to get the taste out.

"Hey, Cas." Anna pulled up a stool next to him and sat down. "You okay?"

"Fine," he said. "I threw up." She looked at him sympathetically and he looked away.

"Sorry," she said.

"Were you having fun?"

"Yes, a lot of fun. More fun than I've had in a very long time." She smiled to herself and shook her head. "You've got a good group of friends, Cas."

"They're not ... I just met Jess and Sam," he explained.

"Dean and Jo, then."

"Especially Jo?"

She gave him a stern look and he shut up about it. "Dean was awesome," she said. "I'm glad he's your boyfriend."

He made a face at the word boyfriend. "I feel like a teenager when I hear that word."

"You look like a teenager, when you're with him," she said. "Not in a bad way. Sometimes I think it's better, being young. When I was in high school, all I could think about was getting out, going somewhere better. I wish I'd enjoyed it more. It's so different, now. Everyone's so afraid."

She paused, but Castiel didn't say anything, so she continued.

"I remember your first boyfriend," she said. "You knew you liked him and he knew he liked you so you two just went for it. No messing around, no games. You knew what you wanted and you didn't let aything stop you. I wish it could be more like that. People, when they get older, they think, 'What if he doesn't like me back? What if it doesn't work out?' They never just _do_. You and Dean - you're like kids again."

There was truth in that. Castiel had spent so much of his time feeling so old. Dean made him feel different - more carefree. Happier.

"I got fired," he told her. "From the grocery store. That's why we're out tonight. I don't know if Jo told you and Sam and Jess, but it's pity drinks. She wanted me to feel better."

"She's good that way."

"I couldn't handle it, dancing. I went outside and puked my guts out." He looked down, then back at her. "When I first got back, I felt like this was a part of who I am. Now I just feel sick." He felt tears prick his eyes and fought them back.

"Oh, Cas," said Anna softly. "That's because for the first time, you want to get better."


	8. Chapter Seven

###  Chapter Seven 

Dean was a bit drunk when they finally left. Jo exchanged phone numbers with Anna and Castiel waved goodbye to them while loading Dean into the passenger seat of his station wagon.

"How come you get to drive?" Dean asked.

"I don't think you should," he replied, peeking at him out of the corner of his eye. So far, Dean's drunkenness had been restrained to flushed cheeks and stuttering, but no major personality changes. He was curious what kind of drunk Dean was - a happy drunk, a sappy drunk, an angry drunk.

He found out as soon as he stepped into his apartment. Really, the warning bells should have gone off when Dean had refused to go into his apartment and instead insisted on "hanging out" at Castiel's place, but he'd written it off. And sure enough, as soon as he stepped through his door, Dean's arms were around his waist and he was kissing his neck and Castiel realized what kind of drunk he was: a horny drunk.

"Time to go to bed," said Castiel, and immediately cursed his word choice.

"Come with me," Dean whispered, hanging on tightly enough that Castiel couldn't shrug him off.

"Dean." He tried to unlatch Dean's fingers to no avail. " _Dean_. We are not having sex tonight."

"Why not?" Dean whined. "It would be good, I swear. I mean, I haven't done it in a little bit, but I've had _great_ feedback."

"Dean, come on," Castiel complained as he shoved him on to the bed. Unfortunately, Dean had such a tight hold on his shoulders that he ended up falling in with him.

"You are driving me crazy," Dean said, holding him close.

"Good to know." Castiel finally managed to get Dean's arms off of him and backed away from the bed quickly. Dean was already snoring loudly. Castiel stared at him for a minute, muttered "You are never having purple nurples again", and walked out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

With Dean occupying his bed, Castiel didn't have much of a chance to get any sleep. Not that he wanted to. He didn't want to risk waking up screaming - he wasn't ready for Dean to see that particular side of him yet.

Instead, he looked at his bills. And he worried.

He'd barely been scraping by before, and that was when he'd had a job. He hadn't bought any new clothes since he'd gotten back, and he'd spent a very small amount on food. Now, he was looking at the possibility of being evicted. He had one final paycheck before he was officially out of work, but even that paycheck wouldn't entirely cover the rent for the month. And after that, he'd have a month to pay up or get out.

Worse was the fact that he needed to use some of his remaining money to schedule an appointment with a mental health professional. It might be rash, but he'd made up his mind. He was not going to spend the rest of his life feeling like this.

He hadn't gone to an unemployment office yet. He preferred to search for work on his own. Now, it seemed, he had no other option. He was looking at a month before getting kicked out of his apartment, and as he'd learned with Dean, a month could pass very quickly.

He'd already decided that he wouldn't to Anna for help, because if he did, she'd want him to stay with her again, and he'd just gotten out.

The first thing he'd have to do is spend a bit of his remaining money on a suit, or at least nice, presentable clothing, preferably clean and with no visible holes. Then, he'd have to begin job interviews. He cringed at the concept - he was horrible at job interviews. He always came off too stiff, too formal, too serious, and often was told he was creepy for refusing to break eye contact.

He spent the night on his laptop, researching and practicing interview techniques, which soon gave way to watching videos online. By four o'clock, everything was much funnier than it should be, and he was starting to yawn. He made himself coffee to stay awake. It was unhealthy, but it did the trick.

Dean woke up around seven o'clock, which was good, because Castiel had to go to his job at eight, and he'd spent the last hour staring at the computer screen without actually seeing it and probably would have spent a few more hours like that.

"Hey Cas," Dean said, rubbing his eyes as he walked out of the room. "Any breakfast?"

"Check the fridge. I think there's yogurt, as well as some strawberries. And of course, I have coffee." His mouth felt a bit strange when he moved it - numb and tingly, and the words came out garbled and a bit slow.

"Ugh. Why don't you have bacon like a normal person," Dean griped.

"Not a morning person?"

"Understatement." Dean poured himself a glass of water and ate some strawberries. He looked at Castiel and said, "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Uh, no."

"Come on, man," Dean groaned. "You have to sleep."

"The bed was a bit full."

Dean flushed. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -"

"Relax. I was joking." Castiel poured himself a glass of water and put away his laptop. He sat down across from Dean and snacked on some of his strawberries.

"Oh. Well." For a second, Dean looked almost bashful.

"I think we've learned our lesson, haven't we? Purple nurples are a bad idea," said Castiel, feeling a bit like a scolding parent.

"God," said Dean, rubbing his head, "they didn't even taste good. What was I thinking?"

"I imagine you ask yourself that quite a lot."

"So. Work today." Dean eyed him. "Why are you even going? You got fired."

"I need the final paycheck. I'll get it on Friday, and then I'll be done."

"Where you going to next?"

"Anywhere that will take me." Castiel laughed humorlessly.

"Look, if you're having problems -"

Castiel cut him off. "Dean, I'm absolutely fine financially. I just don't like being unemployed. It makes me feel defective." As lies go, it wasn't great, but it was early in the morning and Dean seemed to accept it.

"Okay. Good." Dean chewed noisily, but Castiel couldn't bring himself to complain. After a few minutes of eating, Dean said, "Sorry about last night."

"It's okay. You weren't too drunk."

"Yeah, but I don't, you know, wanna pressure you or anything. I mean, it'll happen when it happens, right?"

"But you'd rather it happened sooner rather than later, correct?"

"As soon as possible, actually. But I don't want you to be uncomfortable -"

"Dean, you know me," said Castiel. "Do you honestly think you could pressure me into doing something I don't want to do by making me feel bad?"

"I think you'd actually keep not doing something you want to do if you knew I wanted you to do it."

It took Castiel a second to process that sentence, and then he said, "Exactly. So, thank you very much for your input on the subject, but as you say, it will happen when it happens."

"And you decide when it happens."

"Yes."

"That seems a little unfair, don't you think?" Dean finished his breakfast and put his dishes in the sink. He turned on the water and wrinkled his nose as it came out yellow. "For you to have all that power over me?"

"It's hardly my fault you can't control your penis."

"It's not like you make it any better."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Do I make it worse?"

"Hell yeah!"

"How?"

"You know, just by ... I mean, look at yourself!"

Castiel looked at himself. His hair was messy from being up all night, there were clear bags under his eyes, he was wearing a t-shirt that was too big for him and had holes in it, and his jeans smelled funky. As he looked, he noticed that he hadn't clipped his toenails in awhile. His eyes were bleary and squinty and he yawned frequently and had bad morning breath. He couldn't see what was so tempting about him. He looked back up at Dean, confused. "What about me?"

"I mean, the sex hair and the hands and the eyes and the ass and the stubble and not to mention just about everything you do is hot as fuck and you're totally oblivious to all of it -" Dean stopped. "You're laughing at me."

"I do find this quite amusing."

"Shut up," Dean snapped. "I'm just saying, you have no idea what it's like to be around you all the time and not -"

"Tap that?"

"Didn't I say shut up?" Dean groaned and put his head in his hands. "You're still laughing at me."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. I can tell."

"Maybe a little bit," Castiel conceded. "But I find it endearing, Dean. Not to mention flattering. I was not aware of my own sexual appeal."

"You wanna know what the worst part is?"

"What?"

"Your voice."

"My voice," Castiel repeated in disbelief. He'd never stopped and considered his voice. "What about it?"

"It's all low and gravelly and rough. I could seriously listen to it for hours or, you know, at least jack off to it."

"That's a little too much."

"Sorry."

Castiel busied himself preparing another bowl of yogurt. After a minute, he said, "My voice? Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

"Hmm." Castiel made a mental note.

"Your turn."

"My turn?"

"Yeah, you know. What gets you hot and bothered about me?"

"Who says I get hot and bothered?"

"You're the one who gave me a key."

"Because you continued to break and enter several times because you were so horny."

"Cas, come on. Give me something here."

"Fine." Castiel crossed his arms and looked down. "I suppose ... the first thing on the list would be ... your back and arms." He didn't look up because he didn't want to see the look on Dean's face.

"My _arms_?" Hearing it in his voice wasn't fun, either.

"Biceps, mostly."

"Uh, _why_?"

"They're very, uh, big." Castiel's face was bright red. "I'm terrible at this."

"Yeah, kinda."

"Shut up. Give me a piece of paper and a pen."

Dean got them for him and handed them over. "You're the only guy I know who writes dirty talk."

"Okay. So." Castiel numbered off a list and wrote:

1\. Biceps  
2\. Back  
3\. Arms

"Wow, Cas, I'm beginning to think you only like me for my body."

"Will you stop? I'm not finished yet."

4\. Squinty eyes  
5\. Laugh  
6\. Faux-manliness

"Wait, wait, wait." Dean ripped the list away from him. "What? Squinty eyes?"

"You do them whenever I say something and you don't want to smile or laugh but your eyes sort of squint up and I know you're trying hard not to."

"That. That's what you find sexy. And my laugh?"

"It's nice. Good buildup, nice crescendo, quick fall. And rumbling, like a volcano."

"What the absolute hell. And don't even get me fucking started on faux-manliness. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You're doing it right now," said Castiel. "Whenever you begin to feel vulnerable or weak, you begin puffing yourself up and swearing more and trying to act tough and strong to hide the fact that you're just a huge softie."

"First of all, I am not a huge softie. Second, I don't have to act tough and strong, I _am_ tough and strong. It comes naturally."

"Sure." Castiel grinned at him, glad that it was now Dean who felt uncomfortable. "When you're with Sam or Jess or Jo or I, you act dorky and dance in coffee shops, and then when you meet someone else it's instant macho mode. The jaw tightens, the back stiffens, the eyebrows curl up. It's quite interesting."

Dean looked as if he was having an existential crisis.

"I like it," Castiel assured him.

"You know, this list is _supposed_ to be flattering."

"It is flattering, you just can't tell because you're so wrapped up in the concept of who you're supposed to be that you neglect who you are."

"Thank you, Dr. Phil." Dean sat down heavily. "This is not where I thought the dirty talk would lead."

"Sorry, I'm not that easy."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

Castiel pointed at him. "I'm putting that on the list."

"What?"

"The pouty face," said Castiel as he snatched the paper back from Dean.

"The pouty face?"

"The one you're doing right now."

Dean rushed over to the bathroom mirror. From the other room, he called, "That's just my normal face!"

"It's your pouty face. You pout whenever you don't get your way. It's adorable."

"Jesus fucking Christ." Dean walked back into the room. "I'm gonna have to chug a six pack, become a lumberjack and buy a monster truck just to restore half of my manliness after this conversation."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"No, I'm not." Castiel looked at the list fondly. "I'm going to put this on the fridge."

Dean muttered something under his breath angrily.

*** 

No one was hiring.

Castiel tried the unemployment office, but wasn't surprised when a) nobody was hiring veterans and b) nobody was hiring people who were fired from their last jobs for missing work too often which meant c) nobody was hiring him.

He got his month's notice a week later.

He stared at the paper bleakly, elbows on the counter of his dingy apartment, which sucked, but at least it was _his_. Solitary. Private. Peaceful. He could pace around the apartment and watch TV at four o'clock and drink milk straight from the carton. He could think and read and study and go on the internet. It was his, but not for much longer, and he was already beginning to feel the loss, because the simple truth was he had no idea how he was going to get the money within a month. The end was in sight, but the end was not something he wanted to focus on.

So he focused on Dean instead.

He was always with Dean. Usually in his apartment, but when they went out, it was always to somewhere new. He actually managed to convince Dean to go to an art gallery on the top 100 modern contemporary artists. Dean liked Alexander Calder, David LaChapelle and Candida Höfer, "didn't get" Sigmar Polke or Christopher Wool, and fell in passionate love with Mr. Brainwash, whose works he found much more amusing than they actually were. Afterwards, Dean convinced him to marathon Dr. Sexy MD with him, which was even more awful than Castiel had thought it would be.

He didn't know exactly when he fell in love with Dean. Maybe it was at "You look kind of like Superman." Maybe before. But the moment he knew it with absolute certainty was when he was sitting shotgun in the Impala as Dean struggled in vain to figure out both where they were and where Sam and Jess's new house was.

"Do you have the slightest idea of our location?" he asked.

"I'll know in, like, two seconds."

"We're just circling. You've got no clue."

"Cas, this is where I grew up, okay? I've driven everywhere in this fucking city in this fucking state. So I think I can find out where we are."

"Right. What was the address again?"

"6025 45th Street. I got this."

"I'm fairly certain it was 45th Avenue."

Dean glanced at the directions and swore loudly. Castiel bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, but his lips perked up a little, which immediately brought out the rage-pout and more swearing.

"What the fuck are you so happy about? We're half a fucking hour late. God fucking damn it," Dean growled, and Castiel looked over at him and he just _knew_.

And so, a few nights later, when Dean drove him back from the movie they'd seen together, Castiel invited him in.

He was assaulted as soon as the door closed behind him. Dean was practically ripping his clothes off and it was all Castiel could do to steer them towards the bedroom. Dean shoved him on to the bed and ripped off his shirt and began to kiss every inch of him he could get to - his lips and cheeks and jaw and neck and chest, over and over.

"You're really been looking forward to this, haven't you?" Castiel said as Dean brought their lips back together again.

"You have no idea," Dean said huskily, "no fucking idea how long I've been waiting for this."

"You're so enthusiastic. Like a puppy."

Dean drew back, his shirt hanging off his shoulders, offended. "Dude. Don't call me a puppy when I'm about to fuck you."

"I'm sorry. You're a big, strong, sexy man."

"That's better." Dean pressed their bodies back together again, pulling his shirt all the way off and beginning to work on Castiel's zipper. Castiel spread his legs and straddled Dean, and Dean's lips moved to his neck. "What else?"

"Uh." Castiel was finding it very difficult to concentrate, especially when Dean was working his pants down his legs. "You have just about the greenest eyes I have ever seen."

"And?"

"And," said Castiel, digging his fingers under Dean's waistband and beginning to pull his pants down, "you need to fuck me right now."

Dean's laugh shook both of them, they were pressed so close together. Castiel wrapped himself into Dean and kissed him hungrily. After all, Dean wasn't the only one who'd been looking forward to this. He rolled them over so that he was on top of Dean and straddled him, leaving lovebites across his chest, shoulders and neck. Dean groaned and clutched him so hard it felt as if he might break in two. The sheets were tangled between their legs and arms. Castiel started to grind against Dean, starting out slowly but picking up speed.

"Cas," Dean gasped, "not that I'm not a huge fan of this, but I'm honestly not going to last much longer."

"Hmm." Castiel moved his mouth down Dean's body, leaving hickeys on his thighs, and teased the head of his dick. In response, Dean's hips bucked against him. "You're not kidding."

"I wish."

Dean was short of breath, flushed, and sweating profusely. Castiel took a second to stop and admire him before taking Dean's cock in both of his hands and stroking lines up and down. Dean moaned loudly and Castiel chuckled and reached for the bedside table, where he kept the bottle of lube. He handed it to Dean.

Dean flipped them back over and Castiel's face ended up against the pillows. His legs drifted apart and his body was shaking with eagerness as Dean spread the lube across his body, working it in and out of him.

Dean kissed along his spine, hands moving up to Castiel's shoulder blades. Castiel's back arched with pleasure and he reached up to grab Dean's hips and guide them towards his own.

Dean pushed into him and Castiel's hands gripped the bedspread, gathering fistfuls of sheets. The bed creaked as Dean continued to thrust into him. Castiel nearly bit his tongue off trying not to cry out. He pressed his face into the mattress and his knees began to bend. Dean's hands moved from his hips - one to his dick as he started to jack him off, the other to gather a handful of his hair. The bed was growing louder and so were they, hips jerking up and down slightly out of sync, until finally Castiel let go and came into Dean's hands. Dean was just seconds behind him; when he hit his climax, his entire body went taunt, and then loosened as he collapsed, rolling off of Castiel.

It was sticky and hot and the smell was almost overpowering. Castiel had just about the worst sex hair he'd ever had. He wrapped his arms around Dean's torso and pressed his body into him. "Worth the wait?"

Dean just nodded, out of breath, chest rising and falling. Castiel traced his nipples with his fingers.

They kissed lazily, sleepily, slowly, hands exploring each other's bodies. Dean kept both his arms around Castiel's waist. "I love you," he said into his mouth.

"You were good," Castiel said back.

"You're never gonna leave me, right?" Castiel pressed his face into Dean's shoulder. "You're gonna stay with me forever?"

"Of course."

"Let's get hitched," said Dean suddenly. "Right now. I know a place."

"It's eleven o'clock at night."

"Who cares? I still know a place. Come on."

"You're on a sex high."

"I'm not," said Dean, looking Castiel in the face. "I swear I'm not. I could seriously spend the rest of my life with you. I mean it. I don't give a shit if we get married or not, I just want to know I'll have you forever."

"I promise you will," Castiel replied. "Imagine it. Growing old together. You'd be the cranky old man who yelled at children to get off his lawn."

"And you'd be the old man who always bitched about his achy knees," Dean countered.

"You'd be the one who griped about modern technology and how better things were in the olden days."

"You'd be the one who yelled at all the nurses in the retirement home that they got your meds wrong."

"You'd snore."

"No, I wouldn't."

"You already do. Quite loudly."

"Well, then I'd snore twice as loudly to annoy you."

"I would turn off my sleeping aid so I couldn't hear you."

"I'd wait until you were asleep and turn them up as loud as they went."

"We'd go to the cafe everyday."

"Yeah, and I'd make them play that song."

"And we'd dance to it."

"And break a hip."

"It'd be worth it."

"Yeah."

Dean fell asleep quickly, with their bodies knotted together and their faces so close that they could feel each other's breath. After Dean was out cold, mouth open and, of course, snoring, Castiel managed to disentangle himself. He walked into the bathroom, opened the cabinet, and took two sleeping pills with water.

He slept restlessly, plagued with nightmares, but not once did he cry out.

So, all in all, a good night's sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! This is my first slightly smutty scene ever and possibly my last because its about 100000x harder than other scenes. Let me know what you thought ... any critique is much appreciated!!
> 
> UPDATE: the pun was completely unintended.


	9. Chapter Eight

###  Chapter Eight 

He was evicted three weeks later.

He packed his two lone suitcases into the back of his station wagon and, since he refused to go to Anna's or become someone else's charity case, he ended up sleeping in his car at truck stops and using pool locker rooms to shower. He kept the suit he'd bought, but his hopes of getting a job were slowly fading. He'd had to stop buying food, and was now living off of whatever Dean was giving him.

He told Dean that the neighbors had complained about the noise and the landlord was asking them to keep it down, so it was probably better to stay at Dean's. It was a feeble excuse at best, but the truth was Dean's apartment was nicer - cleaner, better smelling, no Ruby - so Dean didn't put up too much of a fight, besides complaining loudly about his bitch neighbors.

Meanwhile, he and Dean were occupied. Almost every time they were alone led to clothes being shed as they fell on to the nearest bed, couch, or even one time the floor. Castiel's already messy hair was permanently sticking out, and sometimes he found himself wearing a dorky grin for no visible reason. He reminded himself of a dog in heat. He didn't care too much.

Another activity was Dean's ongoing mission to set Anna and Jo up. He and Jess were determined, and Sam and Castiel were being dragged along. Their attempts became more blatant and ridiculous every time, and, strangely, more effective.

First, Dean had Castiel call Anna to meet him at a coffee shop, where he and Jo "just happened" to be hanging out. They pulled up a table together, and after five minutes Dean smacked his forehead and announced he'd forgotten that he had a huge pile of paperwork waiting for him and he had to cut this short. Anna glared at Castiel as he monotoned his designated excuse ("Oh no, I think I've left something at my apartment. I have to go get it"), shrugged, and left.

The second attempt had been even worse. Dean gave Gabriel ten bucks to go to BargainMart after school and call Anna to pick him up from there. Jo gave Gabriel sweets and told him the answers to his science homework. Gabriel declared her a worthy stepmother and began going to the supermarket everyday after school. Soon, it became his designated pick-up spot. A bonus for Gabriel and Castiel was that Crowley vocally protested against Gabriel's presence, causing Gabriel to create a new game called "Take Some of Crowley's Stuff and Tape It To The Ceiling".

The third time was by far the worst. Castiel was assigned to ask Anna to try out a new gym for him, which just happened to be Jo's gym. This time, he didn't even bother with an excuse - he just left her there. But Jo and Anna had a laugh over how stupid the entire thing was and went out for coffee. Soon, they'd agreed to exercise together every Saturday morning and get coffee afterwards. Castiel didn't know how they'd managed to convince themselves the relationship was completely platonic, but he kept his nose out of it. Anna was happier than he'd seen her for a very long time.

He went to see a mental health professional a few days later. She recommended him an extensive 12-week course of psychotherapy, antidepressants and occasional Ativan which was only to be taken when he was unable to calm himself down. The psychotherapy alone cost a hundred and fifty dollars per session, and that wasn't counting the cost of the medications. He would need a job of at least double the pay of his last one to make ends meet.

Looking back, he was surprised he hadn't slipped up sooner. He managed to keep the charade going for a week and a half before Dean found out. But one day, he was sitting in Dean's apartment, snacking on some grapes, when Dean said, "I stopped by your apartment the other day, but you weren't there. Actually, there was no one there. The place was completely empty. It kinda freaked me out."

"Oh." Castiel had no idea how to respond, so he simply said, "Yes."

"Thought you weren't having money problems."

"I may have exaggerated that a little bit."

"Meaning you lied."

"Yes."

Dean shook his head. "I've never lied to you, you know. Not once."

"I know."

"Don't do that again. You lying to me, for whatever reason you chose to do it, means you don't trust me."

"I do trust you," said Castiel quietly.

"Then tell me the truth."

He took a deep breath and said, "I'm doing very poorly financially and I was evicted a little over a week ago."

"So where are you staying now?"

Castiel studied a spot on the table and said, "In my car at various truck stops."

Dean swore loudly. "Dammit, Cas."

"I just didn't want to worry you."

"Fuck that. It's my job to worry." Dean shook his head angrily. "Okay, you're moving in with me."

"Dean, no," said Castiel.

"It's not up for debate. Hell, you spend half your nights here, anyway."

That was true. It was also true that Castiel spent those nights choking down sleeping pills or forcing himself to stay up in fear of nightmares. "If I moved in with you, I'd have to pay rent. Seeing as I have no job, that's not possible at the moment. I would love to move in with you as soon as I'm able to support myself, but I won't be a charity case."

"Cas, no one cares if you don't pay the first few weeks. You can just be a freeloader till you find a job."

"I spent enough time freeloading on Anna," said Castiel. "I won't go back to that, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean studied him for a second and said, "Fine. I know of a job for you."

"Really?" Castiel perked out. "Where?"

"Singer's Auto Shop."

"Dean." He deflated. "I don't want your pity."

"To hell with pity. The chick who did my paperwork, Charlie, moved to Florida six months ago and I've been drowning every since. You'd be doing me a favor."

Castiel shook his head. "No."

"At least check it out before you say no ... again. You need a job, I need help."

"I'm not a child."

"Never said you were."

Castiel sighed. "I'll consider it, but only to humor you."

"That's all I'm asking. Oh, and this: you're sleeping here tonight. You don't have to officially 'move in' if you don't want to for whatever stupid, stubborn reason you've -"

"Dean."

"What I mean is, I'm not having you sleep in your car."

"Fine."

"You know, sooner or later you're going to have to start letting people take care of you."

"I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, sooner or later you're gonna realize they're not mutually exclusive."

*** 

The car garage was loud. Very loud.

That was the first thing Castiel noticed. And it worried him.

Also, the smell. He wrinkled his nose and said, "Ugh."

"Sorry, princess, there are no roses to smell here." Dean waved to a man in a black leather jacket who was bent over the hood of a nearby car. A black leather jacket, Castiel thought, seemed to be a strange choice when working on a car, but maybe it was a normal occurrence. "Hey, Benny!" Dean called. The man waved back.

Dean lead Castiel through the car garage to the back office, and closed the door behind him. Thankfully, it was much quieter. There were two desks, one on either side of the room. Castiel could immediately tell which one was Dean's - one was well-organized, with a colored folder system neatly stacked piles of paper, and the other was covered in candy wrappers, loose papers and empty boxes of gum.

Castiel went to Charlie's desk first. He picked up the folders and ruffled through them. Charlie was good - she had bank statements, tax payments, salaries and worker information and health plans and emergency procedures all in chronological order. Unfortunately, as Dean had said, the information clearly hadn't been updated in about six months.

"All that stuff is good," said Dean. "It's this that's the issue." He motioned to his desk. Castiel looked at the mess of papers and sighed inwardly, but moved to Dean's desk.

The first thing he noticed were the rings on the papers - Dean had clearly been setting his coffee down on them. He picked up a few pieces of paper at random, which were a printed-out email about a new order of tires from four months ago, a handful of crumpled applications, and a very threatening letter from the IRS.

He looked up at Dean in horror, who had an I-told-you-so look on his face. "Remember what I said," said Castiel sternly. "I don't want your pity. I'm perfectly capable of handling my own life and I don't need you to employ me or give me a place to stay."

"Noted."

"That being said," Castiel continued, "this is the most terrifying thing I've encountered since I returned from military service."

"Yup," Dean agreed.

"When's the last time you paid excise taxes?"

"I actually got those!" said Dean proudly, digging around in the pile for a second before producing some papers with a flourish. "See?"

"That's income taxes."

"What?"

"This is for income taxes. Excise taxes are on specific goods sold, such as gasoline."

"Oh. And that's ... those are real things, then?"

Silence.

"I'll take the look of horror on your face as a yes."

"No, no, no, it's fine," said Castiel absently. "It could always be worse, I suppose. It will take over a week to get these properly sorted, but hopefully I can get it done by next Monday."

Dean grinned. "So you'll take the job, then?"

"Well, I suppose I'll have to. At this point, you could be taken by the IRS at any second, and then where will I find such a delusional and dysfunctional boyfriend? I might have to start seeing someone who can actually count. Or read."

Dean smirked at him and produced a bag of apple slices seemingly from thin air. "Want some?"

"I'd love one."

Castiel spent the rest of the day moving papers from Dean's desk to his and organizing them into Charlie's already perfected filing system. A few hours passed and he hadn't even sorted half of the papers and was beginning to rethink his earlier statement. This might take two weeks or more.

Dean, he learned, was a very lax box. Benny was used to clocking out about forty-five minutes early, Bela was constantly surrounded by a group of giggling girls and, Castiel suspected, was stealing tools from the garage, and Tessa, a very quiet but efficient worker, constantly left her things out and strewn across the garage floor. Dean didn't even really work too much - he spent most of his time goofing off on his computer, and occasionally did fifteen minutes of work, which was usually followed by going to get a beer with Benny. If Bobby dropped by, Dean wouldn't work for a few hours. If Sam dropped by, Dean wouldn't work for the rest of the day.

Dean and Castiel were able to settle into a sort of routine with a few unspoken rules. Some nights, he slept with Dean in the double bed, but as he'd stopped taking sleeping pills, the nightmares would wake them both up a few times a night. Feeling guilty, Castiel decided to go sleep on the couch. This plan backfired when he woke up, sweating and confused, and found Dean next to him, who'd gotten out of bed and walked down the hall to comfort him. He returned to the bed, feeling guiltier than ever before.

It was expected that whoever woke up first made breakfast. At first, they drove each other crazy. Dean always insisted on bacon, and not just normal bacon, but a huge amount of unnecessary bacon with _everything._ Castiel had to draw the line when he made bacon with whipped cream on it. On the other hand, Castiel's idea of breakfast was a few carrot sticks, a glass of water or orange juice, and maybe half a banana, which Dean declared was not "man food". After a few days of this, they began preparing two breakfasts - one for themself, and one for the other.

The work day passed smoothly, and often they would meet Jo and Anna for lunch (who seemed to be spending every minute of their free time together, but were still convinced they were just very good friends).

Dinner presented new problems, especially after Castiel nearly burned the place down trying to make fried rice (his culinary skills were strictly limited to noodles and being able to operate a microwave). Dean's dinners were usually pie along with a variety of unorthodox sandwiches, usually containing more than one type of meat and condiments - one, he'd made a peanut butter, cream cheese and ham sandwich, and found it delicious.

The best thing about the arrangement was that Castiel could start taking his psychotherapy sessions. His salary was a little too generous, but he let it slide because he was the only thing keeping Dean's head above the water, and because, despite his lack of organizational skills, Dean was actually making a pretty decent profit.

The first session didn't go so well. Castiel's treatment was cognitive-behavioral therapy, which included exposure therapy. The point of exposure therapy was to help him gain control of triggering situations by being put in triggering situations. Despite being repeatedly assured he was in a safe environment, Castiel spent a good chunk of his days worrying about this.

Surprisingly to no one except for him, it honestly helped. At first, it was incredibly frustrating, because it felt like it should be so _simple_ \- just take deep breathes, relax your shoulders, loosen your muscles - but it was so difficult to keep that in mind when he started getting worked up.

And then, after about two weeks, it began getting easier, until he barely had to remind himself to calm down. The best moment, for him, was when in the car garage and a car backfired loudly. He barely even flinched, just looked up to see what the problem was, saw it, and kept on going. In that moment, he felt something enormous: pride. That was the moment he knew he was going to get better.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is kind of told from Dean's POV. It will (probably) be the only chapter like this of the story. Sorry about not answering the comments, but I read them all and thank you so much!! I love that you like the story and I'll try to keep it interesting (:

###  Chapter Nine 

Dean wasn't sure exactly when he fell in love with Castiel. He didn't even know when he'd first become aware of it. It was just _there,_ and he could barely imagine himself before it.

Sure, he'd loved people before. He'd had girlfriends and a few boyfriends, but nothing like this. It felt like he was constantly oozing it, wearing a stupid smile around, walking taller, love spilling out of him. It felt like he was becoming it.

It was ridiculous how stupid love made him. Suddenly all the lyrics to mushy songs began making sense. For instance, he'd never understood lines like "I only have eyes for you". He'd thought about it before, when a girlfriend had gotten angry at him for eyeing someone else. Sure, you could be into someone, but how could you just stop _seeing_ others? Especially when there were so many fine pieces of ass populating the earth.

But now he finally got it, because every time he saw someone and thought they were attractive, it was because they reminded him of Cas - a girl with the same blue eyes, a guy with a deep, gravelly voice, or anyone who walked around looking like they had a stick glued to their spine. It was true - he couldn't see anyone else, it was all Cas, and it was idiotic and absurd and it scared him to death but he was never going to let go of it for anything.

He was whipped, too. Well aware of it. How else could he find himself in the middle of an art gallery (Cas had some weird fetish for art galleries) trying to make conversation about anti-Enlightenment themes from the mid-1700s? He'd woken up that morning thinking he was going to see the latest Die Hard movie and then lay around the apartment in sweats eating Kentucky Fried Chicken. But all Cas had to do was pout and give Dean puppy eyes or, worse, begin whispering innuendos in his ear, and he was sold. He should have never told Cas about how much he liked his voice. No one should have that kind of power.

There were drawbacks, of course. No couple had an apple pie life, no matter how much they try to convince you that they do.

Cas never wanted to go out to anything that he thought could be loud, crowded, illegal, or slightly entertaining, which basically barred him from ninety per cent of Dean's lifestyle. When he drove, he went at least five miles under the speed limit, and acted like he was on Six Flags if Dean went even one mile over. He didn't like getting drunk (a problem Dean had never encountered before), he didn't like casinos or gambling, and he abhorred concerts with a sort of venom Dean had never seen before.

He could be pretty sadistic, too. Dean got a taste of that when he'd asked Cas to help him in the latest series of his and Sam's ongoing prank war. He'd only wanted to let the air out of Sam's ca, but Cas wasn't satisfied until he'd mixed toothpaste into Sam's cream cheese, removed the Escape key from his laptop, and set all of his alarms to ring every three minutes starting at 4:09 in the morning. Dean learned the hard way not to mess with him: one day, he'd given Cas a two-inch stack of paperwork and taken the rest of the day off. He stayed out until ten o'clock and when he got home he found all of the songs on his iPod had been replaced with the Kidz Bop versions and all of his left-footed socks had mysteriously vanished.

But Dean could handle this. Hell, he could grow to love this. But the worst by far was the nightmares.

The screaming was another thing he could handle. He'd heard it a thousand times before with his Dad. He could deal with the guilt, the I-didn't-mean-to-wake-you-up, the I-don't-want-to-burden-you-with-my-issues. He'd seen it all before.

But some nights, Cas didn't scream. The second night he slept in Dean's bed, Dean noticed.

It wasn't really whimpering, not really. It was barely even gasping - just these little noises, so small Dean barely heard them. He woke up to see Cas digging his fingernails into the mattress and making soft choking noises into his pillow, brow furrowed and shoulders shaking. It wasn't crying, it wasn't scared, it was the sort of sounds an animal makes when it's been wounded.

Dean was utterly lost. He'd never felt so clueless, so helpless before. He didn't know if he should wake Castiel up or let him sleep, comfort him or leave him alone, so he ended up wrapping his arms around him or drawing circles with his thumbs on Cas's back or whispering "It's okay, Cas. Shh," into the darkness. Sometimes Castiel would burrow himself into Dean, or press his face into Dean's shoulder. Most of the time, Dean didn't seem to make a difference.

But the bad things were tiny, infinitesimally small compared to the good things, and Dean found that the more things he discovered about Cas, the more he loved him.

For example, Cas had just gotten back into the habit of drawing, something he hadn't done regularly since high school. Dean was surprised by his style of art - he'd expected deep, spiritual abstract works, or maybe still lifes. Instead, Cas loved drawing cartoons. He could sketch out perfect caricatures of people and always managed to capture the key elements of the person. His favorite person to draw was Dean, but he always drew him differently - sometimes with big, pouty lips, other times with thick, slashed eyebrows, occasionally with huge, anime eyes. He never neglected to give Dean a smattering of freckles, though, which made Dean look a bit more teenager-ish than he was used to.

But still, Dean felt bad. He felt bad when Cas made noises in his sleep, or when he came back from psychotherapy and announced that he "didn't feel like talking about it" and stared out the window, or when he saw Cas's sad smiles when he thought Dean wasn't looking. Dean was happier than he'd ever been, and that was because of Cas. He wanted him to feel the same way.

Cas knew everything about him, every detail of his life. He knew his favorite album from when he was seventeen, the name of Sam's first girlfriend, the inside jokes with his friends, the cost of the tux he'd worn to senior prom, how he'd felt when he'd found his father's secret stash, why Led Zeppelin was better than Pink Floyd, what he'd felt when he'd found old pictures of his mother in the attic and realized that he'd forgotten what she looked like. But there were so many things he didn't know about Cas, and whenever he found something out, he realized the true extent of his ignorance. It wasn't that Cas was being purposefully dishonest with him, it was more like he didn't see the point of sharing his past with Dean, not when there was so many things in the present to share with him.

Anna, in comparison, was an open book. She could tell stories about Cas that would provoke him into duct-taping her mouth shut if he ever heard one of them. More than that, she was refreshingly straightforward. Dean had gotten into the habit of hanging out with her and Jo (and sometimes Sam and Jess, if they got time in their busy lawyer schedules) while Cas was at psychotherapy. Usually they went out for lunch somewhere and chatted.

"How's life with my brother?" Anna asked one day.

"It's great," said Dean automatically. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at her, wondering if he should confide in her. He didn't think Cas would want him talking about private business, but, then again, this _was_ his sister. "It's awesome," he said after a moment's pause.

Jo and Anna, of course, read a lot into that pause. Anna set down her coffee cup to examine him in a hard, unashamed gaze that reminded him eerily of Cas's, and Jo asked, "Trouble in paradise?"

"No, no, not at all. Well, not really. It's just ..." Dean bit his lip. "The dreams and stuff."

"Winchester, you handled your father's nightmares. How could it be any worse than that?" Jo asked, not unkindly. It was true. His father would wake up half-delirious, thinking they were under attack, and make Sam and Dean grab machine guns and hide themselves in the basement. Compared to that, Cas's nightmares were tame.

"It's not that," said Dean. "You know I can handle all the screaming and shit. It's actually when he's not having nightmares that's the problem. It's sort of ..." He stopped, not knowing how to continue.

But Anna was nodding. "The whimpering," she said solemnly.

Dean looked up, relieved. "He did that with you, too?"

Anna laughed humorlessly. "He's been doing that since he was thirteen."

Dean and Jo exchanged a look of surprise. "Why?" Dean asked.

"Every Saturday night, we'd read together and act out the stories and play games and eat ice cream. It was family time. One day, we ran out of chocolate ice cream. Cas asked Mom to go get some. She said 'back in fifteen minutes' and on the way home from the store some drunk college kid smashed into her and killed her."

"That's not Cas's fault," said Dean hotly. "The dude shouldn't have gotten so drunk he couldn't control himself and ended up killing someone!"

"I know that. You know that. And on some level, Cas knows that. But on another, he can never forgive himself," said Anna. "That's something you've got to learn about my brother, Dean. It's always his fault. Even the stupid, ridiculous things he could never possibly control. Castiel always blames himself for _everything_."

Dean fell silent for a moment, then proclaimed, "That blows."

Anna nodded. "Tell me about it. It was bad enough trying to convince him the whole Gabriel thing wasn't his fault. Imagine having to do that everyday for an entire childhood. Sometimes I just wanted to slap him and yell that he was acting like an idiot and not everything was his fault and thinking it was made him self-centered and egotistical. Most of the time I just wanted to cry. But I knew he'd blame himself for that, so I didn't." She shook her head and smiled sadly. "A tip: put a damp washcloth on his forehead. It's the equivalent of putting a blanket over a birdcage."

"Okay. Thanks." Dean turned over what she'd said in his head for a minute. Then, he asked, "What Gabriel thing?"

Anna and Jo started to speak at the same time. Anna said, "When I was in-" and Jo said, "It's nothing. Never mind."

They looked at each other. Jo bit her lip. "You don't have to," she said softly.

"It's all right," said Anna. "I'm not ashamed, and I trust Dean." She turned to Dean, chin up, eyes set and determined and said, "When I was in college, I started partying a lot. I made friends with people I couldn't trust because we liked getting drunk together and I skipped classes because I was too hung over. One night, I got really drunk and I could barely even walk. One of my quote-unquote 'friends' had a boyfriend who offered to give me a ride home. I passed out in his car and he raped me. That's how I became pregnant with Gabriel."

"Fuck," said Dean.

Jo gave him the most scathing look possible. "Nice," she said. He could hear the acid in her voice.

"Oh, shit. I'm so sorry, Anna. Seriously. That's - that's completely fucked up. Did he go to jail?"

"No. I tried to press charges but he was never even arrested."

"I'm sorry," said Dean again. It was such a little phrase - he felt that it couldn't begin to sum up what he actually felt for her.

"At the time, Cas was in the DEP - that's Delayed Enlistment Program. He freaked out. I can't remember ever feeling scared of him before, except for that moment. I never told him the name of the guy. I was afraid he was going to kill him," said Anna matter-of-factly. "It was a very difficult time for me. I became severely depressed for a long time and I was also scared to go out in public without Cas. I dropped out of college - honestly, I was failing anyway - and moved in with him. He dropped out of the DEP and stayed with me until I'd gone back to school and gotten my degrees, and once he knew I was all right on my own." She paused, taking a sip from my coffee. "I considered getting an abortion. Cas never gave his opinion on the subject, though I think that if he had, he would have wanted me to do it. But he knew it was my choice. It was a very difficult decision, but in the end, I decided to keep Gabriel. I've never regretted that," she said honestly. "I was afraid, you understand, that I wouldn't be able to love him or care for him, that he might turn out like his father. But I also knew that I would raise him better than that, that I would never hide the truth from him but rather explain to him what had happened and why it's wrong."

"You raised him right," said Dean, picturing the skinny, grinning boy in his mind.

"Cas never resented Gabriel, either. He took good care of him. He was a dad to him when Gabriel didn't have one," said Anna. "He was there for him when I couldn't be." She took a deep breath and for a second, Dean thought she might cry, but she collected herself quickly. "Cas took care of me and Gabriel, Dean. He helped us both get on our feet. I was so angry at myself when he first came back from service. I felt like I'd failed him. He'd barely even talk to me."

"He's a stubborn little son of bitch," said Dean.

Anna laughed and tipped her glass towards him. "That he is," she said. "But he's better now, Dean. He's happy with you. You've really impacted his life, and I want you to know that. You gave him a purpose and you gave him support that I, as much as I love him, couldn't give on my own. Both of you," she added, looking at Jo, who looked a little taken aback. "It was you who convinced him to go to the support group, and it was you who welcomed him into your life without even thinking about it. I just want you to know how incredibly grateful I am to you."

"You fucking Miltons," said Jo. "You know it goes both ways, don't you? I mean, when I'm with you, it's ... it's sappy as hell, but I don't even care because I'm so happy."

Anna and Jo grinned at each other. Dean shifted uncomfortably. This was now firmly in the range of chick-flick moments and he couldn't think of a good way to excuse himself. Not that it mattered. Jo and Anna were staring into each other's eyes with the kind of sickening sweetness that made Dean want to throw up. _Will they just make out already?_ he wondered. This was fucking ridiculous.

"Well, I'd better go pick up Cas," said Dean loudly, even though it was a half an hour until Cas finished his session.

"You know, you don't have to shield yourself all the time," Anna told Jo.

"Bye!" Dean practically shouted.

"Bye," said Jo absently, before leaning in closer. "I know," she murmured. "I just ..."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean muttered as he pushed his chair back, scraping it across the ground, and made his escape. He shook his head as he walked out.

When he picked up Cas, he pulled him in tight and kissed him hard on the mouth. Cas looked surprised. "What was that for?" he asked.

"I was just talking to your sister."

"I see. About kissing me?"

"No, dumbass. It just made me think about, you know, that I'm ... it's cool having you around, that's all."

"I see," said Cas again, in a voice that explicitly stated that he didn't see at all. But he gave Dean a small smile as he threw his arm over his shoulder, and Dean couldn't help leaning in and kissing him again.


	11. Chapter Ten

###  Chapter Ten 

Dean took off early from work one day. At this point, Castiel wasn't even annoyed -- he'd given up trying to introduce any order to the sporadic work schedule of Dean Winchester. So when Dean checked out at lunch and didn't come back, he assumed he'd gone out with Sam or Bobby or Jo&Anna (there was no point in differentiating between the two anymore, considering they were always together).

He drove himself home, humming along to a song on the radio. The Impala was in its usual parking spot, meaning Dean was probably already in the parking lot. _He'd better have dinner ready,_ Castiel thought as he walked up the stairs (he hated taking the elevator. It smelled like too much perfume).

When he got to the door, he paused. There was music coming from inside. He opened the door hesitantly and looked around. The interior of the apartment was normal, but the smell was not. It smelled like food, and good food at that, not crappy pizzas or sandwiches with cream cheese, peanut butter and ham in them. It smelled like food he'd actually want to eat.

"Dean?" he called.

"In here," Dean called back from the kitchen.

He walked into the kitchen and blinked, eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of light. Dean had turned off all of the lights and lit candles all around the place. There were two plates at the table, and the table was lined with food -- soup and breads and cheeses and noodles and much, much more. Dean leaned against the counter, a bottle of wine in one hand and two wine glasses in the other.

"Oh shit," said Castiel. "Is today our anniversary?"

Dean clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Unbelievable," he said. "I'm shocked, Cas. How did _I_ remember but _you_ forgot?"

"Maybe because I'm already managing your entire life?" Castiel asked, throwing his laptop bag to the ground nearby.

"And here I am, slaving away making dinner for you, and you don't even remember ..."

"Dean," Castiel cut him off. "I'm very grateful, but let's be realistic. You did not make this food."

"True," said Dean, moving to the table and setting the wine down on it. "I got it from Buca."

"And the song," said Castiel, smiling at the speakers. "From the cafe."

"Yeah, and let me tell you, it took for-fucking-ever to find."

"Thank you," said Castiel, taking the two wine glasses from him and kissing him.

Dean just shrugged and pulled his seat out for him. Castiel placed the glasses on either side and poured the wine as Dean slid into the seat across from him. "One year," said Dean, raising his glass.

One year, Castiel thought as they clinked glasses.

He took a long sip and set his glass down gently at the table. Dean drank for a little bit longer and ended up emptying the glass.

"I can't believe I've put up with you for this long," said Castiel.

"Yeah," Dean said absently as he poured himself more wine. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about." He took another long sip.

"Would you like any food to go with that alcohol?"

"Huh?" Dean stared at him.

"Here." Castiel shoveled some pasta on to his plate. "It might do you some good, eating something that's not designed with chemicals in a warehouse."

"Thanks so much," said Dean, taking a bite of the pasta.

"What were you saying?"

"Right. Yeah. So, we've been at it for a year and it's been awesome and I ... it's really great having you around," said Dean. "So I was kind of wondering if you'd want to, you know, keep ... being around ... for ... for, like, ever?"

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"I mean ..." Dean had the expression of a drowning man plastered on to his face. " ... if ... if you wanted to. Like ... like remember what I said? That I'd like to stay with you ... like, our entire lives? I still ... I still mean that ... a lot ..."

"Dean," said Castiel, putting up a hand to stop him, "this is a bit confusing, but it sounds like you're trying to propose."

"Yeah!" said Dean. "Yes, Cas, exactly. Thank you."

"Hmm. You're aware we're not legally able to marry, yes?"

"Yeah, I know," said Dean sheepishly, shrugging. "I just figured this is more of a 'someday we will' thing. Like, the same commitment without the big fucking ceremony and all that shit."

"Ah." Castiel eyed him for a second and said. "Well, continue, then."

"Continue?"

"Yes, with the proposal."

Dean went red. "But you know what I'm gonna say."

"Yes, but I'd like something besides a stuttered 'for, like, ever', please."

Dean glared at him. "Cas," he said, "wihooarye?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. You're mumbling."

"Will you marry me," said Dean.

"Depends. What's the magic word?"

"You are not fucking doing this," said Dean through gritted teeth.

"How can you expect marriage if you can't even say it? What, you can fix a car but you can't tell someone you love them?" Castiel asked dubiously.

"God, I'm not even sure if I want to anymore."

"Shh." Castiel took Dean's hand. "You're doing fine. Don't spoil it now."

"Fine, you want the full fucking event? Fine." Dean pulled a small blue box out of his pocket and knelt to one knee. "Castiel James Milton," he said formally, "will you marry me ... _please_?"

"Dean Michael Winchester," said Castiel just as formally, "I would love to."

"Cool." Dean began getting up.

"Ahem," Castiel coughed and put out his hand. "Aren't you forgetting something?" He wiggled his ring finger.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Dean in a voice which implied that he really wasn't that sorry at all. He got back down and gently moved the ring on to Castiel's finger. "Is that better, princess?"

"Lovely." Castiel examined the ring. "How many carats?"

"Okay, no," said Dean, and Castiel laughed and said, "It's beautiful, Dean, honestly. I just like to watch you get flustered."

"You are so spoiled," said Dean, sitting back down across from him and beginning to shovel food into his mouth.

"Then stop spoiling me."

Dean looked up at him, grinned and shook his head. "Never."

*** 

Sam's birthday was on Thursday, but Dean decided to have him over on Friday night. "See, the problem with Sam's birthday," said Dean to Castiel, "is that he knows so many people. On the day of, first his work buddies take him out for a drink. Then, later, his friends take him out for a drink. And then, finally, his family -- that's Bobby and Ellen and Dad and all those guys -- take him out for a drink. And he's so polite that he ends up getting piss drunk and super sappy and begins crying over everything and telling everyone he loves them. And I'm not gonna put up with that again. So, basically, we're giving him a small party over here."

"If we're having people over, we should really get the place straightened up," said Castiel, glancing around.

"Nah, it's only Sam and Jess and Jo. They know we're pigs."

"Speak for yourself," said Castiel, and spent the rest of the day cleaning the apartment as Dean sighed and rolled his eyes at him.

Jo came first, and, of course, she had Anna with her. Gabriel was with them as well, accompanied by two bags of sweets.

"You're gonna get fat," Dean told him. In response, Gabriel stuck out his tongue, which was blue and striped.

Sam and Jess came a few minutes later. "Jesus, it's clean in here," Sam remarked, looking around.

"Cas let his inner maid loose," said Dean.

"Am I the only one here who doesn't prefer to live in a pig sty?" asked Castiel.

"Nah, Anna hates it too. I think it's a Milton thing -- you guys are such neat freaks," Jo laughed.

"Oh, I see," said Jess. "So, you've been spending a lot of time at Jo's house, then?" She glanced at Dean as she spoke. Sam and Castiel simultaneously rolled their eyes.

"Not really," said Anna.

"I've mostly been going over there," said Jo.

Sam sighed and excused himself to the kitchen. Castiel followed, but as he glanced back he noticed that his sister's cheeks were a little redder than usual, and that her fingers seemed to keep brushing Jo's wrist ...

He confronted her about it later, after Dean had switched on a football game and he, Jess and Sam had crowded around it.

"So," he asked Anna and Jo, "is it true?"

"Is what true?"

Castiel gave his sister a pointed look. "Anna, I've known you for a very long time," he said seriously, earning a snort from Jo, "and I can tell when you're keeping something hidden. Also, you seem to be holding hands." He looked at them pointedly.

"Great work, Sherlock," said Jo.

"Talking about them dating? Finally, right?" said Gabriel, materializing behind him with two lollipops in his mouth, which gave him the absurd appearance of a skinny walrus. "I've been telling Mom to get to it forever, but she was so boring and slow that I never thought it was going to happen."

"Thanks so much," said Anna.

Gabriel shrugged. "Mom, can I have some beer?" The beer had been poured a few minutes ago and now all the grownups had a cup in their hands, except for Castiel.

"Hmm. Are you twenty-one yet?"

Gabriel considered that for a moment, and then said, "Yes."

"All right then. Here you go." She offered her cup to him.

He stared at it for a moment. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Go for it." She shook it at him.

He eyed it suspiciously. "Did you put anything in it?"

"Gabriel, really," she sighed. "If I'd put anything in it, would I be drinking it? Besides, does that sound like something I would do?"

"No," said Gabriel, taking the cup. "It sounds like something _I_ would do." He shrugged, took a sip, and gagged almost immediately. "Ew!" he yelled.

"What's the matter?" Anna asked, widening her eyes innocently. "You don't like it?"

"That's so gross!" Gabriel gasped, pushing the cup back at her. Jo took it and laughed. "It tastes like elephant spit mixed with cat barf mixed with octopus poop!"

"And how would you know what that tastes like?" Jo asked, but Gabriel ignored her.

"Disgusting! How do you even drink that?"

"I happen to like the taste of elephant spit mixed with cat barf mixed with octopus poop," said Anna serenely, taking her cup from Jo and taking a sip.

"Man," said Gabriel, turning to Castiel. "I used to think you were a total pansy for not drinking beer, but I totally get it now."

"Thank you," said Castiel as Gabriel walked away, shaking his head and muttering something about crazy grown ups. "Truly touching sentiment." He raised an eyebrow at Jo and Anna. "So?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "Yes, Cas, we hooked up. No thanks to you."

"We're dating," Anna clarified.

"No thanks to me?" asked Castiel. "Did I not play a key role in manufacturing the base on which the two of you erected your relationship?"

"First, never say erected again. Secondly, you played a key role in being a dick," said Jo. "And a douche."

Castiel laughed and nodded. "Yes, I know. Dean was quite insistent." He frowned at them. "Are you going to tell Dean?"

"What, and get a huge I-told-you-so? No way. He'll figure it out on his own. Eventually."

"And hopefully we'll be a few miles away at the time," Anna put in.

"Well, I'm happy for you," said Castiel.

Anna grinned. "Thanks, Cas."

Dean sidled into their conversation, the football game still blaring in the other room. "So, what did I miss?"

"Apparently, beer tastes like elephant spit mixed with cat barf mixed with octopus poop," said Castiel.

Dean paused for a second, then said, "I'm guessing Gabriel said that."

"How did you know?"

"Because he peed in a cup and he was just in the other room telling us to drink it because it will taste better than our drinks," said Dean.

"Oh my God," said Anna, her face as red as her hair. "Excuse me." She rushed towards the other room calling, "Gabriel!"

Dean laughed and draped his arm of Castiel's shoulder. "Come on, we're not gonna want to miss this."

After the pee in the cup incident came to an exciting finale, Gabriel promptly fell asleep on the couch, followed shortly by Anna. Sam and Jess left at eleven-thirty and Jo decided to crash at Dean's place with Anna and Gabriel. She draped a blanket over Anna and Gabriel and took a position on the floor right next to the couch. Castiel couldn't believe Dean hadn't figured out that they were together yet.

Meanwhile, he and Dean retreated to their bedroom. Dean passed out almost immediately and was snoring within five minutes. Castiel glared at his sleeping form jealously. It always took him longer than Dean to turn off his mind. He drifted off about half and hour later, face pressed into Dean's side.

He slept late the next day, and was woken at ten o'clock by a shout.

"I knew it! I knew it!" Dean was yelling.

Castiel groaned and buried his head under the pillow. Unfortunately, he couldn't quite muffle the sound of Dean yelling, "Cas! Get in here!"

Sighing, he got to his feet and padded across the floor into the other room, where he found Dean staring triumphantly at Jo and Anna, who looked disheveled and annoyed. Gabriel was still sleeping, as he possessed the unique ability to sleep through virtually anything.

"You'll never guess," said Dean. "I woke up, walked in here, and found _them_ -" he motioned towards Jo and Anna accusingly "- making out on our couch!"

Jo looked as if she was about to murder him with her bare hands.

Castiel stared at him for a second. "No way. Really," he intoned. "Wow."

Dean looked shocked. "You knew?"

"Yes, since the party last night."

"And you didn't tell me?"

Castiel sighed and glanced longingly at his bed, before relinquishing any hope that he would be returning to it soon. He turned back to Dean and said, "Sorry."

"This is a betrayal!" said Dean. "I would have told you!"

"You would never have needed to tell me, as I would have found out before you."

Dean shook his head slowly and began to back away. "Unbelievable."

"I'm so very sorry to have disappointed you in such a way, Dean," said Castiel as Dean walked out of the room muttering to himself. "Could you please get the mail as you wallowed in your stunned bemusement and self-pity?"

"He's going to be horrible for the rest of the day," said Jo. She looked at Castiel. "It's your job to make sure he doesn't misbehave too much."

"Noted."

"You must have some secret superpower over the guy," said Jo. "You can actually get him to shut up sometimes."

"I heard that," said Dean, returning with the mail under one arm. "You're not forgiven, Harvelle."

"Oh no," Jo snapped. "How will I go on?"

Dean checked to make sure Gabriel was still asleep, flipped her off, and went into the kitchen.

"Make sure to start breakfast," Castiel said. He looked at Anna and said, "Are you going to need help moving Gabriel?"

"I'll probably have to wake him up eventually," Anna said. "One time I didn't and he slept for a solid twenty hours. I think it's because of how unhealthy his diet is."

Jo laughed. "You Miltons always seem to think the root of all problems is an unhealthy diet."

"Jo, the sweets he eats are filled with sugars which give him a short energy boost which dies off quickly afterwards and leaves the body quite drained. I think --" Anna was cut off by a loud crash from the kitchen. "What was that?"

"Dean is probably so outraged by our deceit that he dropped something," said Castiel lightly. Jo and Anna laughed. "I'll go see what it is," he said, walking into the kitchen.

Immediately he knew that something was wrong. Dean's head was down and both of his hands gripped the counter. A vase lie in pieces on the floor, next to a torn envelope and a letter.

"Dean?" Castiel asked. "Dean, what's wrong?" He touched Dean's shoulder but Dean flinched away. He kept his head down and his breathing seemed to be ragged. "Dean," Castiel said again, but when Dean didn't reply, he picked up the letter and read it.

The kitchen looked like it was far away, and spinning. He understood Dean's reaction now, but to his surprise, his heart did not start to race, his palms did not go sweaty. He stood quite still and felt as if he was someone else, looking down on the scene below. He stared at the letter in his hands and then slowly set it on the counter.

Someone was calling his name. "Cas? Cas?" Anna and Jo. They'd come into the kitchen and were looking between him and Dean, worried. "Cas!" said Anna again. "What's wrong?"

He didn't think it was possible for him to move, so he was surprised when his hands gave her the letter. She took it and read it once, twice. Her lips mouthed the words on the paper and her face registered nothing but shock.

"What is it?" Jo asked.

"It's the military," said Castiel. He did not recognize his own voice. It sounded as if it didn't belong to him -- too low, too steady. The voice Dean loved, the voice that could talk him into just about anything -- how could it possibly belong to Castiel? "I'm being called back to active duty," he said to Jo. "I'm going back."


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is NOT it for the week! Hopefully I will get the next chapter up tonight or tomorrow. This is very short and just a taste/sneak peek. Promise!!

###  Chapter Eleven 

The next days rushed by in something of a blur.

There was the initial shock. The panic, the anxiety, the anger. The latter was mostly from Dean, who ranted loudly against the army, against the government, against America in general.

The initial denial faded into numbness, and Castiel found that he could not bring himself to the levels of emotional response that Dean could. Dean saw the letter, Castiel's return, as some sort of great injustice, while Castiel saw it as inevitable. Of course, things could not stay good. Of course, with everything going so well, something had to go wrong. Surely they had been tempting Fate with their happiness, their love - like dancing on her loom, taunting her. Now the string had been cut, and all they could do was fall.

And so he surrounded himself with Anna, with Jo, with Sam and Jess and mostly with Dean. They barely left each other alone - anywhere he went, he would feel Dean's warm skin pressed against his. This, too, was inevitable.

He started to memorize Dean, every inch of him. He memorized the pattern of freckles on his face, splattered across his cheeks and nose like constellations. He memorized the length of his fingers, the softness of his hair, the feel of his feet pressed against Castiel's leg under bed covers. Everything. If he was going to die thousands of miles away, he wanted to die with a picture of Dean in his mind's eye, captured there for eternity.

The way Dean's voice sounded when the lay together in bed. Hushed, whispering. Sometimes it was "They can't do this, Cas, they can't just fucking take you" and sometimes it was "We'll fight this. Or we'll run away. Promise," and once it was "Promise me you won't leave. Promise you'll stay with me." And what else could Castiel do but promise? _Of course I won't leave you, Dean. Of course I'll be here whenever you need me._

The way Dean stopped going out during work, stopped hanging out with Benny and Bobby and Sam and John and Jo and Jess and Tessa and Bela, the way he put his life on hold. How could Cas not do the same for him? How could he just leave him behind?

The way he found Dean tracing his shoulders and back or running his fingers across his face or through his hair. He knew Dean was memorizing him, too. He had pictures on his camera phone and laptop, but every time he saw him, he acted like it was the first.

And the last.

And so the days rushed by, even though it felt like they were standing still.

It came too soon. Castiel still felt like he had so much time left to spend with Dean, so much more that he could give. His entire life, for Dean. No one else.

He told him every day that he loved him, but they were little words. They could not convey what he truly felt. The problem was that he didn't have any other words to offer.

The drive to the base was silent. Castiel wore his fatigues but he hadn't put his jacket on yet, just a loose t-shirt with holes in it. Anna drove her red minivan and Jo sat in the passenger seat. Sam and Jess sat directly behind them, and Dean, Castiel and Gabriel occupied the back seat. Castiel rested his head on Dean's shoulder and Dean played with his hair absently. He kept his lips pressed to his cheek. Gabriel stared down at his hands. They did not speak.

Not until they'd parked the car and were greeted by the sight of an enormous helicopter did the goodbyes start to flood out. Jo started by pulling Castiel close and whispering, "If you get yourself killed, I will haunt the everlasting shit out of you in whatever afterlife there is, got it?" Castiel nodded. Jess hugged him next and said, simply, "Be safe." The concept was laughable - safe, in a war? But he nodded again. Sam said nothing, but squeezed him tightly.

Anna kissed him on the cheek. "You come back, okay? You did it once. You can do it again. Come back home to us," she told him. She brushed his hair off his forehead and said, "I love you, Cas, so much." She was the first one he hugged back.

Gabriel fidgeted awkwardly and then rushed into Castiel's arms. "Sorry I called you a pansy," he said. "You're actually ... you're actually pretty BAMF, you know?"

As their friends and family looked away tactfully, Dean grabbed Castiel's shoulders and kissed him hard. "I'm not saying goodbye, cause you're gonna be back soon," he said.

"I won't say it, either," said Castiel.

"There's no point in saying I love you, either. You already know that."

"Of course."

"So then, I guess ... talk later?"

"Talk later," said Castiel, and brought both his hands to Dean's face. He brushed the wetness away from Dean's eyelashes and kissed him softly, before pulling away. It felt like an earthquake, like the tectonic plates on the earth shifting, ripping away from each other. It felt like his heart was breaking.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and started to walk towards the helicopter. He turned back once and saw his family, so small in the distance. Sam and Jess with their arms around each other, Anna and Jo with their hands grasped together, their free hands over Gabriel's shoulders. And then Dean, hands in pockets, head down.

"Goodbye," said Castiel, and turned back to the helicopter.


	13. Chapter Twelve

###  Chapter Twelve 

**Seven months later**

"Your deal," said Balthazar, dangling a cigarette between his lips and handing the deck of cards to Castiel.

"You skipped me," Inias protested, leaning forwards.

"You cheat," said Balthazar shortly.

"So do you."

"Ah, that's true." Balthazar took a lazy drag from the cigarette and exhaled the smoke. It drifted away, thankfully not towards Castiel. "Cas is the only honest bloke here."

Castiel picked at the peeling skin on the back of his hands. He said nothing.

"Yeah, I guess so," agreed Inias, and allowed Balthazar to hand the deck over.

Castiel sighed and took the deck, slapping it against the base twice before beginning to shuffle. "Look at you," he said. "The heroes of a nation."

"Ouch. We're quite heroic, Cas," said Balthazar. "We're not the ones gunning people down, are we?"

That was true. This tour was quite different from his last. The dirt was the same, the overpowering the stench, the lack of privacy, the feeling of suffocating on dust at all times. But this time, they weren't in tents, they were in a shitty, run-down building, and they weren't fighting, they were playing cards and talking and smoking and eating shitty, run-down food. They collected sand in the bottom of their boots, not a body count. Technically, they were a combat unit. They shared their quote-unquote "base" with four other squads, they were assigned military vehicles and weapons, they'd been trained and assessed and were always suited up and ready. But they never actually _did_ anything. 

They were a motorized infantry unit, meaning they were trained to fight on foot, but mostly they just drove around in big trucks. And they didn't even do that too often. It was a welcome change from Castiel's first tour - he'd been in light infantry then. He hated that title - there was nothing "light" about having to carry literally everything on your back.

"What are we even doing here?" Inias complained as Castiel began to deal the cards out. "I came here to serve my country, not sit around on my ass." He glared at the rotting walls as if they had personally offended him.

Balthazar and Castiel exchanged a look. They were the only experienced soldiers in their squad besides Raphael, the commander. The others were all young men, in their early twenties, who seemed eager to fight. Balthazar shrugged one shoulder up and down slightly, clearly saying, _Well, they'll learn soon enough_. Castiel looked back down at the cards.

Another boy sat down at their table, with dark hair and thick eyebrows. "Deal me in," he told Castiel, who unceremoniously tossed some cards at him.

"Michael," said Balthazar pleasantly. "To what do we owe this pleasure? Do you need some help removing the stick from your arse?"

Michael glared at him. He was unpopular among the soldiers for his tendency to kiss massive amounts of ass. "No, Balthazar," he snapped. "I was just informed by-our-commander-Raphael-no-less that we're getting some new recruits today," he said in one breath.

"Why?" Castiel asked. He couldn't help himself. "Because we're doing so much here?"

Balthazar chuckled. Michael turned his glare to Castiel. "Because, Castiel, we're remarkably short on soldiers here, and I have also been informed by-our-commander-Raphael-no-less that we're going to be seeing some action soon."

"Why are _you_ telling us? Why not Raphael?" Inias asked.

Michael seemed unsure of where to glare next, so he looked away. "Our-commander-Raphael is busy with much more important tasks than informing _you_ of everything that goes on around here."

"Busy doing what?" Balthazar snorted. "Flossing his butthole?"

Castiel winced at the mental image. Michael's eyes narrowed, his chin darted out, and he said, "You are NOT ALLOWED to speak of your commanding officer like that!"

"Oh, dear. I've really done it this time," Balthazar muttered.

Michael tossed his cards down on the table, got to his feet, and stormed away, back completely straight. Balthazar looked after him. "Look at that. The brave little soldier," he said, and Castiel knew they were both thinking the same thing. Balthazar glanced down at the cards. "Oh, well. He had a shite hand anyway."

"You shouldn't do that anymore," said Inias, looking amused. He glanced at his cards. "I'm out," he sighed, and threw his cards on top of Michael's before getting up and leaving.

Castiel looked up at Balthazar. "Are you afraid?" he asked. _As afraid as I am?_

Balthazar said, "Nah," but he took a longer drag from his cigarette. He only did that when he was nervous. "I've been hugging the dirt since the day I got here and I'm not going to stop now. Live to fight another day."

"How patriotic."

Balthazar shot him a half-smile and placed his cards on the table gently. "I believe I have you beat."

Castiel looked at them. He did indeed. "Cheater."

"If you're not cheating you're not trying," said Balthazar, and got up with out another word.

*** 

The newbies, as Balthazar called them, were young. Quite young. In fact, Castiel was fairly certain that besides Balthazar and a guy called Gary who never spoke to anyone, he was the oldest. And he was still, as defined by Balthazar, a "kid".

"We can't be going into combat with a bunch of toddlers," said Balthazar. He'd begun smoking more and more, and was constantly surrounded by a noxious cloud of smoke. It was kind of disgusting.

"Have you seen that Rachel chic though," said Inias, fanning the air in front of his nose. Castiel didn't blame him - courtesy and respect for Balthazar was the only thing keeping him from doing the same. "She's hot."

"Brilliant," said Balthazar. "Let's see if her 'hot'ness can win whatever bloody war we're supposed to be fighting here." He was also getting moodier.

"What do you think, Cas?" Inias asked him, ignoring Balthazar, who was still muttering angrily under his breath. "Would you tap that?"

"No," said Castiel.

He'd never come out to them, following the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy. Still, he saw no point in faking attraction towards women. He was fairly certain Balthazar knew, and was surprised that no one else was questioning his utter lack of interest in the Playboys some of the boys had brought with them.

"You're nuts," said Inias. "Both of you," he added to Balthazar.

Rachel was the only woman in the squad, and she was acutely aware of it. Maybe that was why she spent most of her time making anyone who talked to her immediately sorry they had done so.

"You're a fucking pussy" was her catchphrase, followed closely by "What the fuck is wrong with you", "Get out of my fucking face", and "When is this fucking war going to start already!"

"She's something," Balthazar would say, but he couldn't disguise a grin when Rachel cussed out Michael, which resulted in one of the most hilarious fights so far.

Castiel mostly tried to stay out of her way, but, as it happened, both he and Rachel seemed to prefer to spend time by themselves, and they would often meet each other as they escaped to the same places.

"Are you stalking me?" Rachel asked the fourth time this happened.

"No," said Castiel.

"Seems like you're always where I am," she shot back.

"I could say the same for you."

"Yeah. Right." She took a threatening step towards him. "You'll never have a chance with me, okay? So why don't you fuck off."

Castiel could have choked on laughter. Instead, he said, "You really don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Try to act tough so people will take you seriously."

Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "You know what, fuck you!" she yelled. "What, a girl can't be tough without faking it to win the approval of men?"

"It was my mistake," said Castiel. "I suppose it was just preferable to imagine that you're only pretending to be this much of a bitch." He walked away without another word. Dean would have been proud.

He and Dean wrote, though not nearly as often as he'd like. Dean was a horrible letter writer - he seemed unable to do much besides narrate his activities with little commentary. But he took a lot of pictures and sent them along, too. Most of them, Castiel had to throw away - after all, he couldn't exactly make a photo album - but he'd kept his favorite, which was a picture of Dean after he'd attempted to make a homemade pizza. He'd snapped a picture smiling above the doughy mess, flour in his hair and a sauce stain on his collar. His dimples showed and his freckles popped out and he looked so perfectly _Dean_. Castiel couldn't bring himself to throw it away, so he folded it up and kept it in his helmet. He kept the engagement ring on a chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt. He'd gotten a few comments from the men while changing on the "lucky girl" waiting for him, but he'd refused to answer their questions and eventually they'd moved on.

Castiel and Balthazar's worries about combat were lessened when Raphael told them they'd simply be bringing supplies to light infantry units nearby. He allowed himself a small smile of relief. _It's not like the last time_ , he reminded himself. He hadn't even fired a weapon yet.

Rachel joined him and Balthazar for a card game.

"What you said to me is really fucking rude," she told him.

"All right."

"All right," she agreed. "Pass me some cards." From that moment on she joined his small circle of friends.

He learned a lot about her. She had four older brothers so she was used to having to act mean around them. She also had a son named Fred and a husband named Tommy waiting for her back home. She was obsessed with X-Files, her favorite book series was _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ because she loved reading them with her son, and this was her first tour in Afghanistan. She hated her laugh because it was too loud and she always ended up snorting, which Balthazar found hilarious.

For a few weeks, driving vehicles was as much action as they saw. Sand, sand, sand. As much as Castiel preferred it to the other option, he was beginning to think he'd be happy if he never saw sand again.

But, of course, it couldn't laugh. Nothing good ever did.

He and Balthazar heard the gunfire first, probably because, unlike the others, they'd been listening for it since they'd arrived. He was driving and Rachel was in the passenger seat next to him. He straightened up immediately, sucked in a breath and began scanning the area around them.

"Take cover," he told Rachel, his voice remarkably calm for how panicked he felt. She looked like a child, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, fumbling with her helmet strap. Balthazar was a few vehicles ahead and he was craning his neck looking for him when a bullet pierced the window. The trucks came to a halt in front of him and Raphael's voice crackled over the radio, telling them the gunfire was coming from the east and to take cover on the right side of their vehicles. They were to hold their fire. "Get out on the right side," he said to Rachel, who nodded and pushed open the door. "Stay low to the ground."

Balthazar's comment on hugging the dirt was accurate. It was how you survived. Rachel lowered herself to the ground and Castiel followed quickly. "Where's Rafael? What's he saying?" she asked, her voice pitched higher than usual.

"Hold your fire," Castiel said, and glanced around the vehicle. He spotted the shooters on the hill left of their vehicles. It was a group of Afghan boys and men, dressed in loose clothing. Not an army. Probably some sort of militia, or a group from a nearby village who'd gotten fed up. They had rifles pointed down at them. _Please stop,_ Castiel thought hopelessly. _I really don't want to shoot you._

It was futile, he knew. Even if they could hear him, they wouldn't stop. Why should they?

Rachel lifted her gun. "I have a clear shot," she said. "They're just standing there."

"Hold your fire," Castiel repeated sharply.

The problem was, they'd forced each other's hand. The soldiers, by taking cover instead of simply driving on, could not move at this point without risking being shot. The men on the hill wanted to kill them, but couldn't, because they'd taken cover. Eventually, one of them was going to have to move, and that would give the other the opportunity that they needed. Something had to give.

Raphael was hoping the men would leave and no one would be injured. That would be more common - often, individual groups were content to shoot and leave. But sometimes they weren't.

Looking back, it made Castiel want to laugh. Because they were a trained military from one of the most powerful countries in the world, but they hadn't seen it coming. Never had they considered that a group of people could also shoot from the other side. They might represent America, but all they were in the end was a group of kids who didn't know what the hell was going on.

A lucky shot, everyone called it. And it would have to be. There was no other way anyone, but especially not a fifteen-year-old boy with a machine gun, would be able to shoot with that amount of accuracy. There was no way anyone would have been able to predict that Castiel would peek around the truck, craning his neck, to see the boys on the other side at the exact moment that he did.

The boy from the west just had a lucky shot. He was skinny, with narrow arms that strained to keep the gun up. His father stood next to him, feet planted in the sand. He was tall for his age. He wasn't even aiming for Castiel - just in the general direction of the truck.

Rachel turned her head and saw them. She raised her gun, forgetting the order to hold fire, and shouted a warning to Castiel. She was too late.

It's funny, what you remember in the seconds that might be your last. As the bullet whistled over Castiel's shoulder blades, it was more noticeable what he _didn't_ remember.

He didn't remember his first job, or his first kiss, or graduating from high school. He didn't remember his favorite book or his sister or his mother. He didn't remember meeting Dean, the marriage proposal, or dancing to the song in the cafe.

What he did remember was more of a snapshot than a flashback, and a blurry one at that. He was ten years old, sitting with his sister and his mother on the couch. They didn't have a TV, but his mother had caved and let him use her laptop to watch something. Anna was away at a sleepover. They were watching _Justice League_.

"Who's your favorite?" his mother asked him.

He paused, playing with the blanket that covered him. "Superman," he said finally.

"A noble choice." She nodded approvingly. "I thought you might say that."

"Why?"

"Well, Superman is very heroic. He exists only to save and to assist others. He does not do it for himself - for recognition, for money, for some sanctimonious ego stroke. He does it only because he cares about humanity and wishes to serve in the best way possible." She kissed him on the forehead and smiled at him affectionately. "I believe that would appeal to you, Castiel. That you would feel some connection to him."

"Connection?" Castiel asked, confused. "You mean I'm like him?"

"You do share certain similarities in character."

"Like what?"

"You, like Superman, are quite brave." She ran her fingers through his hair as she spoke. "You're also remarkably self-sacrificing for a ten-year-old. You always put others before yourself. And, like Superman, you have wonderful traits that not many others possess, but you like to keep them hidden. A diamond in the rough."

"And I'm going to save people someday," said Castiel. He felt more confident, more sure of this fact than anything else. "Just like Superman."

"Quite right," his mother whispered.

And as the bullet spun past his neck and past his left ear and pierced through his skull, the only thing he heard was Dean's voice.

_You look kind of like Superman._

And his vision exploded into grainy blackness, and no more thoughts crossed his mind.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are absolutely AMAZING!! I haven't responded to most the comments but I've read them all and I love you so much for supporting the story! Here, have another mini chapter, beautiful people.

###  Chapter Thirteen 

The ceiling of the infirmary was gross looking. It was stained and rotting and peeling.

Castiel woke up with his head pounding. He was given pain pills and antibiotics by a helpful Red Cross nurse and told to keep laying in the bed. A half an hour later, he realized something was wrong.

He pulled back the blankets slowly and what he saw made him sick. Where his left leg should have been, there was only a stump which ended right below the knee. He thought he was going to throw up. He pulled the blankets back up and pretended he hadn't seen it.

He was lucky, he was told. The bullet that had pierced his skull had somehow managed to miss almost every vital part of his brain. It had been a bitch to dig out, and he was going to have a lot of head pain for awhile, but besides that and the missing limb, he was fine. And healthy.

Inias came by later.

"My leg," was the first thing Castiel said to him.

"They were throwing these bombs, like these homemade bombs at us," Inias stammered. "They weren't hugely explosive or anything but they were filled with acid. They did a lot of damage."

"What happened to my leg?"

"Part of it got blown off, I think. They had to amputate."

"No," said Castiel. He shook his head. "No, this isn't real."

"Cas," said Inias, and Castiel could see it on his face - the nightmares had already started. Soon Inias would be the one hiding in his house and flinching at loud noises.

"This isn't real," said Castiel again.

"Cas, Balthazar and Rachel are dead."

Castiel closed his eyes.

"They got hit. Rachel got shot a lot trying to get you. She bled out. One of the bombs hit Balthazar and he - he didn't have time to get out of the way. There wasn't even anything left to get. Just pieces," said Inias, voice shaking.

Castiel didn't say anything. He kept his eyes shut.

"Raphael's been removed from command, and he deserves it." Now there was malice creeping in. "That was a shit move, we should have kept driving, then no one would have died. He got them killed." He waited for Castiel to respond. When nothing came, he added, "Michael's dead, too."

Last time, it had been an open wound. Now, there was nothing. A huge, empty void inside of him.

"Cas?" said Inias. "Cas, we're going home. All of us, the entire squad. We're being sent back."

He should be feeling something. Joy, relief, anger, pain, _something_.

He heard Inias's sigh and his footsteps faded as he walked away. That was the last time he ever saw the boy.

"This isn't real," he said again, but there was no one there to hear him.

*** 

They were waiting for him at the base. It looked like they hadn't even moved, like they hadn't even aged a day. It felt like it had been years since he'd last seen them.

Anna sprinted into him and yanked him into a hug. "You're okay," she said. "You're gonna be fine, okay, Cas?" He was on crutches, the remaining half of his leg swinging under him, so of course he couldn't hug her back, but he pressed his face into her shoulder.

Dean kissed him. "Hey, Cas," he said, and didn't let go of him for the entire car ride back to their apartment. He could feel everyone glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes. Like they were afraid of him.

As soon as he and Dean got back he excused himself to bed, saying he was tired. Dean hesitated in the doorway, but didn't join him. It felt like there were still miles in between them, like Castiel hadn't returned at all. For the first time since he'd met Dean, it was awkward to be together. There wasn't anything to say to each other.

Castiel spent the good part of the next few weeks in bed. It wasn't like before, when he felt as if he was too tired to even move. It was more like he couldn't think of a reason to get up.

Dean lay in bed with him sometimes. Other times, he yelled at him to get up. Most of the time, he tried to talk to him. Castiel knew that he should respond, but for every reason he could think of to speak, there was another to stay silent.

"It's like yelling at a fucking wall," Dean said at one point. "Talk to me, Cas. Please."

But what could he say?

Eventually, Dean stopped trying to talk to him. Eventually, he stopped trying to get him out of bed. And so Castiel became little more than a permanent fixture in the room - another piece of furniture.

Except for at nights. When Dean was asleep, he'd get up and walk outside and wander the streets, arms tucked inside the sleeves of a sweatshirt.

He liked going out at night. The darkness made him feel shapeless, formless. None of his ugly features were illuminated by harsh light. They were masked. He liked to look at the stars. They could be distant planets and faraway galaxies or dots in the sky, take your pick. When he was out at night, his heart beat faster, and he found himself checking over his shoulder to make sure nothing was creeping up behind him. It was nice to know that he still wanted to live. Easy to forget.

But there was nothing out there - no demons lurking in the darkness. Out of everything, he thought, that might be the worst part.

And then he crept back into bed with Dean and closed his eyes.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is it! Just this chapter and an epilogue left, and then it's over.
> 
> Thank you all so much for the support on this fic. It's the first one I've ever written and it means so much to me (: I love you all! x

###  Chapter Fourteen 

It was windy at the beach, and cold.

It had just rained, and the air still carried the scent. A reddish 1971 Subaru pulled into the empty parking lot, and two children climbed out of the backseat - a girl with auburn hair in a flowery dress and a jean jacket, and a boy with big blue eyes wearing corduroy pants with holes in the knees. The girl carried a shovel and a pail, and the boy swung a lunch box between his hands. An older woman, their mother, followed them with a beach bag slung over her shoulder and her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.

The two children ran across the beach. They discarded their shoes near a log and sprinted in different directions, bare foot. The girl ran like she was flying, legs climbing towards the sky before crashing down to the earth. The boy ran like he was desperate, his feet barely lifting off the ground.

The girl stopped a few feet away from the tide and knelt to the ground. Sand gathered in her dress, but she didn't seem to care. She began to gather the sand into a pile in front of her. Still damp from the rain, it held together nicely. Still, she glanced up, looking for her brother who'd abandoned the lunch box on the beach. "Cas, come help me," she yelled.

But the boy ignored her and ran towards the water, charging in with no thought to the way it splashed up on to his pants. His mother watched him and sighed, but didn't try to stop him.

"Cas," the girl yelled again. She got to her feet and followed him towards the water. "What are you doing?"

"I want to swim," he said.

"It's freezing! You're crazy!" she laughed. "Come help me build a sandcastle."

The boy looked out on to the water. "Do you think I could swim to China?" he asked seriously.

"This isn't the ocean! It's a lake!" she said. "And even if it was the ocean, you wouldn't be able to swim to China. You'd drown."

The boy continued to stare out at the water, contemplating that.

"You're going to catch a cold and be sick," the girl complained.

"It's not that cold." He pulled off his windbreaker and shirt and left it on the shore, before walking out until the water came up to his waist. He wasn't a skinny child, but he was lean, and the wind and cold made him look emaciated.

Maybe that was why his sister looked so worried as she shrieked, "Cas, don't!"

He ignored her and fell backwards into the water. For a few seconds he was completely submerged, and then he came up gasping.

"It's time to get out," the girl said sternly, and he finally obeyed and climbed out of the water. He was shivering, and his skin was cold when she touched his arm.

"It was really refreshing," he informed her.

"See, you're all cold now," she admonished. "Come on, I think Mommy has a towel." She gathered up his shirt and windbreaker and dragged him back towards their mother, who had set up a lawn chair on the beach and was doing a crossword puzzle. She had already foreseen the situation and had a towel waiting for him.

After the boy had dried off, he and his sister built their castle tall and carved a moat into the ground around it. The boy collected water in the pail and filled the moat up with it. For a few minutes, they made up stories about the people who lived in the castle. Then, growing bored, they knocked it over and stomped it back into little bits of sand.

They returned to their mother, still buried in her crossword puzzle. "Mommy, tell us a story," said the girl.

"A story? What kind of story?" their mother asked, placing the pen and magazine to the side.

"Any story." The girl sat down cross legged in front of her. The boy slipped back into his shirt and windbreaker before joining her.

"Please, Mommy," he added, and she smiled at him.

"Well, okay then. Let me think." She put her crossword puzzle away and leaned towards her children, tapping her chin. "Okay, I've got it. Once upon a time there were two bears."

"Were they mean bears?"

"I'll get to that. Their names were Kasha and Everest."

"Those are weird names."

"They're normal names for a bear. They would probably think your names are weird." The mother abandoned her lawn chair and sat down so that she was facing her children. "Kasha and Everest loved to sing and dance," she said. "Every night, when the moon was up, they'd dance together and sing their songs. They lived in a beautiful forest with many other animals, and when they sang and danced, the other animals would join in. Sometimes it was the little squirrels with twitchy noses, sometimes it was the fish jumping out of the water. But all of the animals loved it.

"There was a village nearby the forest. In the village lived a bunch of humans, and among those humans was a group of hunters. The people in the village were afraid of the bears. They thought that all bears were huge and mean and liked to tear men apart with their sharp claws and gobble them up with their big teeth. So, they sent the hunters into the forest to kill the bears.

"In this group of hunters, there was a brother and a sister named Luke and Maya."

"Were they brother and sister like me and Cas?"

"Yes, they were a lot like the two of you, now that I'm thinking about it."

"How?"

"Well, Maya loved to do cartwheels and gymnastics and she liked dancing."

"Just like me!"

"Yes, and Luke liked to read and make up stories and draw."

"Just like Cas," said the girl.

"Exactly. Now, the brothers and sisters really wanted to be the ones to kill the bear. They wanted to be heroes in the village and make their family proud. One night, while the other hunters were asleep in their tents, Maya crept over to Luke. 'While they're all asleep,' she said, 'let's go find the bears ourselves.' Luke agreed, and off they went into the forest.

"They searched the forest carefully and soon enough they found the bears. But they saw the bears dancing and singing along with the forest and they realized that they were not evil or mean. So they came out and dance and sang with the bears. Afterwards, they told Kasha and Everest about the hunters and how they were coming to kill them. They promised the bears they would try to stop them.

"They went back to the hunters and told them everything. The hunters did not believe them. They thought that they were lying. They said, 'We're going to go shoot those bears and if you try to stop us then we're going to shoot you, too.' Now Maya and Luke were scared. They wanted to save their new friends, but they didn't want to be shot by hunters. They didn't know what to do.

"So, they went back down to the village and began to tell everyone about the bears. Most of the people laughed at them. 'You're being silly,' they told them. 'Bears are evil and they will try to kill you. Everyone knows that.' Maya and Luke realized no one was going to listen to them. That's when they had another idea. 'Why don't we ask all the forest creatures for help?' they said. 'They know that Kasha and Everest are not evil.'

"So the two went back up to the forest and asked all of the other animals for help. The next night, the little squirrels and rabbits and otters and chipmunks snuck into the tent and took all of the hunter's weapons. Then, Maya and Luke woke the hunters up. They brought Kasha and Everest with them. The bears began to dance and the hunters saw that they were not evil. They promised to leave the bears in peace. All except for one mean old hunter named Hornbrash. He did not care if the bears were actually nice. He just wanted to kill them. So he pulled a knife out of his trousers and ran at them.

"The other hunters saw what he was about to do and jumped in his way. They took the knife from him and told him that he was going to be brought back to the village and put in jail. Hornbrash twisted free and escaped. He ran through the forest as fast as he could. Soon, he began to realize that something was wrong. His feet were turning to wood and his fingers to branches. He felt his hair, and it was made of leaves. Roots shot out from his legs and twisted into the ground and he could no longer run. He started to grow and his skin hardened and he turned into a twisted and gnarled tree. The animals nearby ran away from the tree. They were afraid of its ugliness.

"Luke, Maya and the hunters returned to the village and told everyone of what they'd found. More people were now willing to listen, and they hiked up into the woods to see the bears for themselves. There were a few who refused to believe that bears to be good, but there were many more willing to listen, and soon enough, most of the villagers accepted the bears and even put food out for them. And that's the story of Maya, Luke and the Bears. The end."

"I liked that story," said the girl immediately. "I like Maya and Luke and Kasha and Everest."

"Me too," said the boy. He played with a lock of loose hair which the wind blew in front of his eyes. "Can we act it out later?"

The mother opened her mouth to answer, but she was cut short by the wind. It was howling louder and the ocean was beginning to churn. The pail and shovel were blown away. The girl's hair lashed out from her head and the beach began to peel away, the sand churning into a huge vortex right above them.

"Wait," the boy said, getting to his feet. "Wait, this isn't what happened."

The vortex was growing bigger and starting to emit loud popping noises. It sounded like gunfire. The girl shrieked and covered her face with her hands. "Cas, stop!" she yelled, before she was lifted up and carried into the vortex.

"This isn't what happened!" the boy protested. He turned back to his mother, who stared at him with wide eyes. "We went home and acted it out and we had macaroni for dinner and you let us stay up late! I remember what happened, and this isn't it!"

But the wind simply screamed louder and lifted the mother and her lawn chair and her beach bag up and carried her away, spinning into the vortex which was flashing like lightening and bellowing like thunder, and Cas woke up with a start.

It was the middle of the night and he was lying in bed next to Dean. His heart was pounding and he was covered in sweat. _Not this again. Please._

He must be half-delirious with sleep, but it occurred to him that he hadn't been back to the beach since he was twelve years old, and he wanted to see it again. He wanted the waves, the salt on his tongue, the crash of the shore line meeting the ocean. He wanted to run across it and make sandcastles with Anna and listen to his mother's stories. He wanted to be able to tell Dean what was wrong, he wanted Balthazar and Anna to be alive, he wanted Inias to stop having nightmares, he wanted to dance in cafes and forget that people were watching, he wanted to eat rabbit food in the kitchen and watch Superman kick Batman's ass on TV and see his sister holding hands with Jo and he wanted to feel it all, he wanted to be a _part_ of it. So he slipped on some sweat pants and grabbed his car keys and left.

As he hobbled down the stairs, wobbling on his crutches, he thought about how fortunate it was that it was his left leg he'd lost instead of his right. He was still able to drive. Thank you, Afghan boys with homemade bombs. He laughed to himself.

The nearest beach was fifteen minutes away. That was way too far. What if he'd wanted to go sometime? He'd never even thought about it. He drove too fast, but no cops were going to pull him over. Not tonight.

The seat of the car was too nice, he realized. He was pretty sure it had been stained before. Now that he thought about it, it hadn't been as rusty when he'd gotten into it, which lead him to believe that Dean had been taking care of it while he was away. Maybe it would have been better if he was still there. Then Dean would have happy memories to hang on to him instead of the mute cripple he got back. If he'd died out there, Dean would have never seen him like this. Now it was too late.

It wasn't the beach he'd gone to as a child, of course, but at night it could have been the same. He hadn't thought to check the time, but it must have been very early in the morning. He left his car on with the headlights on bright to illuminate it for him. The crutches got caught in the sand and he finally threw them to the ground in disgust and chose to crawl towards the water on his hands and knees.

It was even colder than usual, but there was no roaring vortex in the sky (he'd checked), so all in all, an improvement. He laughed again to himself. It wasn't really funny, but he hadn't laughed in awhile. It almost hurt.

He put his hands in the water and watches the sand flare out around them. It was calming, but not healing. Disappointment welled up in him. It didn't matter where he went, his mother would still be dead and Anna would still have been raped and Dean would still be waiting for him to actually come home and he'd still be lost and broken and completely alone.

He looked out on the water. He couldn't swim to China, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how hard he tried.

"I want to swim," he said.

This time, he didn't bother taking off his windbreaker or his shirt. Instead, he headed right out on to the water. He plunged his head underneath and opened his eyes below the surface. The moonlight had been caught by the water and shattered into a million pieces. It looked like a kaleidoscope and a galaxy, all in one. He ran his fingers through it.

"Cas!"

Two hands grabbed his shoulder and yanked him out of the water. He gasped, blinking, head swiveling around as Dean dragged him out of the water. "Jesus - fucking - Christ," Dean grunted. "What the hell are you doing?"

He opened his mouth to say something stupid or sarcastic, like, "Nice night for a swim" but what came out was a sort of rasped, choked sob.

Once he'd started, he couldn't stop. He doubled over, pressing his face into the sand, and cried. He felt Dean's arms around him as the sobs wracked through his body. Dean picked him up as if he was a child again and carried him back to the car. He put him in the back seat of the Impala and didn't even bitch about him getting it dirty or wet. He went back for Cas's crutches, lying abandoned in the sand, and put them in the backseat as well. He took the keys out of Cas's car, locked it, and climbed into the driver's seat of the Impala.

Cas buried his face into the Impala's interior and cried. It occurred to him, briefly, that he was leaving his car behind. He'd have to go back and get it later in the morning. He shoved the thought away.

He'd managed to get himself back under control by the time they reached the apartment and refused to let Dean carry him up the stairs. Instead, he went on his crutches, too stubborn to take the elevator that smelled like perfume.

He went to the shower first. It was hot and almost burned his cold skin. He watched the sand and ocean off of him, leaning against the wall of the shower as he scrubbed himself clean. He changed into pajama pants he'd cut half of the left leg off and an old, faded ACDC t-shirt he was fairly sure belonged to Dean.

Dean was waiting for him at the kitchen table. So was some hot chocolate. He sat down across from him awkwardly.

He didn't know where to begin, but when he opened his mouth the words tumbled out.

He talked about the first day of training, about meeting Balthazar and Inias and Raphael and Michael and Rachel, about the crappy base and the card games and the cloud of smoke. He talked about going to the beach with his mother and his sister, about dropping out to help Anna, about how much he wished he'd never gone back. He talked about the trucks and the homemade bombs and the skinny Afghan boy that he wasn't sure he'd made up or not. He talked about the shots and the bullet to the brain and the explosions.

"She died protecting me," he said. "She died trying to save me. If I hadn't -"

"Don't," said Dean immediately. "Cas, take it from an expert. Don't do that to yourself."

"She had a husband," said Cas. "His name was Tommy. And a son named Fred. She read _A Series of Unfortunate Events_ to him every night before bed." He played with the cup of hot chocolate in his hands. "He's going to grow up without a mother now."

"That's not your fault."

He talked about Balthazar's death, too. About how there was nothing to pick up afterwards. He even talked about Michael.

"We made fun of him. We laughed at him. He must have been about twenty and we belittled him and mocked him and he was a kid. He didn't know any better. We did."

"You couldn't have known."

"We did know. I knew he was going to get himself killed. He didn't know how to hug the ground or save himself. He wanted to be a hero so badly. He wanted the glory and recognition and the patriotism. We knew it was going to happen."

"You're not the one who killed him."

"No, but I certainly didn't make his life any better."

He must have talked for hours, because eventually his voice broke, and he stared down at his hands on the table.

"I don't know what to do anymore," he whispered, his words raspy from talking for so long. "I don't know why I should keep living. I'm not suicidal, Dean, I promise. I just can't come up with a reason to stay."

"Tell you what," said Dean. "Let's head over to the cafe tomorrow and ask Ellen to play the same song. I'll get some of that shitty fruit you like and some good stuff for me and we'll talk about it then, okay?"

Cas nodded. "Okay." He paused. "Can you get mangoes?"

" _Mangoes?_ Are you fucking serious?"

"What's wrong with mangoes?"

"Jesus Christ." Dean shook his head. "Apples, I can take. Strawberries and blueberries, sure. Bananas, sometimes. But mangoes? What the hell?"

"Would you like me to recite to you the nutrition facts for mangoes?"

"No, you know I don't give a shit about 'the nutrition facts for mangoes'," Dean mocked.

"You said you would get me fruit. I want mangoes. Why is this so difficult? You're not the one who will be eating them."

"Yeah, but I have to watch _you_ eat them. You know what, screw it. I'm getting you pie and you're gonna eat it and you're gonna like it."

"It's too late. You already said mangoes."

"No I did not fucking say mangoes."

"You said fruit."

"I'll get you apple pie. That's fruit."

"That's a sorry excuse for fruit."

"Dammit, Cas, you're having apple pie and that's final."

Dean got up and kissed him on the forehead before walking away, and Cas knew he was going to be all right.


	16. Epilogue

###  Epilogue 

A little girl in a yellow sundress spun in the backyard.

She was barefoot, her dark hair flying out behind her, her blue eyes shut. Her head was tilted towards the sky and her arms were out. She spun as fast as she could, until it felt like her feet were being lifted from the ground and she was being pulled into the sky.

Finally, she lost her balance and tumbled backwards into the grass. She didn't seem discouraged, and got back to her feet, tilting dangerously to the side as she watched the world spin around her.

"Alex!" Dean called from the kitchen. The backdoor was opened so that he could turn his head and see her out there. "They're here!"

"Okay, Daddy," the girl called back. She staggered dizzily towards the back door, giggling.

The front door to the house opened and Sam and Jess came in, toting a skinny blonde girl who couldn't have been much younger than Alex. The girl wriggled free of her parents' grip immediately and shot out the back door to Alex.

"Nice to see you too!" Dean called after her. She didn't slow down.

"Hi, Alex," she said in greeting.

"Hello, Laynie," Alex replied, smiling at her cousin. "I can do seven cartwheels in a row," she reported solemnly. "How many can you do?"

"I don't know." Laynie looked deeply troubled by this information. She did four cartwheels across the grass before falling into it. She got back up, looking disappointed.

"That's okay," said Alex kindly. "I couldn't even do three in a row until about a week ago. Aunt Jo came over and taught me how to do more. She'll probably teach you today, too."

"Daddy, Daddy," Laynie yelled as she ran towards the house. "When is Aunt Jo and Aunt Anna getting here?"

"Soon," Sam yelled back. He turned to Dean and shook his head a bit. "Where's Cas?" he asked.

"Picking Gabe up from the airport," Dean replied.

"Oh, that's right," said Jess. "How's college been treating Gabe?"

"He joined a fraternity," said Dean.

"Oh, God," said Jess.

"He hasn't destroyed too much, has he?" asked Sam.

"Well, his frat house had a party which resulted in them setting fire to a teacher's car, but he swears he didn't have anything to do with that," said Dean.

"Of course not. Goodness gracious," said Jess. "We'll be lucky if he makes it to graduation."

The sound of a car interrupted their conversation. Jess peeked out the window and smiled fondly. "Laynie!" she called. "They're here!"

Laynie and Alex ran through the house to the front, where Jo and Anna climbed out of their car. Anna picked a little boy in the back seat up out of his car seat. He had blonde hair the same color as Laynie's and a pacifier in his mouth and his eyes were shut. 

"Aunt Jo! Aunt Jo!" Laynie shrieked. "Can you teach me how to do a cartwheel?"

"Of course!" said Jo, handing a diaper bag to Anna, who accepted it with an eye roll. "It's simple once you get the hang of it," she said. "It's all about balance."

She and the girls entered the house as Dean got beers out of the fridge. "Daddy, can I have a beer?" Laynie asked.

"Maybe you should stick with lemonade for now," said Sam. 

"Daddy, when is Papa going to be home?" Alex asked.

"Soon, Lex. I bet he'll be here by the time you finish doing your cartwheels," said Dean.

Alex, Laynie and Jo escaped to the backyard, and Anna approached with the baby on her arm.

"How's Jakie?" asked Jess, poking the baby fondly on the nose.

"He's great," said Anna. "I think I'm going to start potty training soon!"

Everyone stared at her. "Anna, he just started walking," said Sam.

Anna shrugged. "It's never too soon to start. I waited until the last minute with Gabriel, and let me tell you, that was a fiasco." She turned to Dean. " _How_ did you manage to potty train Alex so fast?"

"I know!" said Jess. "It took months with Laynie, and Alex just seemed to suddenly start doing it overnight!"

"Well, I guess it's because I'm a great father," said Dean.

"Please." Sam rolled his eyes. "I bet Cas did all of it."

"It was actually really weird. One day he sat Alex down and looked her dead in the eyes and said in this really serious voice, 'One of the many transitions of childhood is learning to use the toilet, Alexandra. In time, you will be faced with others that will, perhaps, be more difficult. But for now, this is the only hurdle you must overcome. Master this, and you will be free to do what you please.' And she nodded and by the end of the day, she was taking it to the bathroom like a pro."

"Ugh. Where can I get a Cas," grumbled Jo. "Just kidding, honey," she added to Sam.

A car pulled up to the house. "Speak of the devil," said Dean, a grin breaking over his face.

Gabriel bounded through the door first. "Hey, Mom!" he said. "Got any beer?" He'd gotten over his hatred of the substance.

"I hear you've been drinking enough at school," she replied sternly. "A fire, Gabriel? Really?"

"Hey, don't judge till you hear the whole story," Gabriel said defensively. "Hey little bro!" he crowed to Jake, taking the toddler in his arms. "Have you tried beer yet? It's _great_."

"Gabriel, do not give your brother beer!" said Anna. "Hey, Cas," she said in a much nicer voice as he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"Hello, Anna," he said. He looked around. "I see I'm the last one here."

"You're getting slow with age," said Gabriel. "Look at you. You're going gray, old man."

It was true. There were streaks of gray in Cas's hair, barely noticeable at first. The lines on his face had been etched in more permanently, especially the crinkles around his eyes. But he walked with the stride of a younger man, and, instead of leaning on crutches, he was now supported by a prosthetic leg.

He wrapped his arms around Dean's waist and kissed him hello, but was called away by a yell from the backyard. "Papa! Papa!" Alex called. "Come look what I can do!"

"Coming," Cas said, and let go of Dean. Dean kissed his nose again lightly and turned back to his family.

Cas walked out to wear his daughter spun and danced in the grass. There was a wedding ring on his finger and a smile on his face. It was a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that's it!
> 
> I know I've said it before, but thank you so much for taking the time to read this. It was so much fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! Not bad for a first fic, right? :)


End file.
